RECYCLED DOORS

THE MAIDEN, THE SAINT & THE DEVIL 18X79"

The maiden in her passive pose reclines majestically to the
North. Known for her serpentine ways, she welcomes faring
captains to her shores.

To the South the naked monk who lives in scarcity by water’s edge.

Protector of the maiden, to some a saint, and guardian of the verdant

Peninsula of San Francisco Bay. At sunset’s edge he dons a crimson

robe to bless the weary traveler that enters his abode.

To the East, the first to greet the morning sun is the devil’s throne.

This double-pyramided sentinel stands grandly in its place and grows
in stature by the day.

The three cathedrals of the Northern Bay. What they have seen but

will not say. They hold their place in silence with the passing of each age.

The 6th Floor

18x84"

Working in the Fillmore
back in 1969, making

bread on a baker's

time. I heard a voice

inside me, a voice that

said,"Grab that bus and

get out of your head."

Paid the driver in the front

and I moved to the rear

seeing right away that

things seemed queer.

The bus had seven stories,

so I started to climb. By

the time I reached the

sixth floor, 'twas a quarter

to nine.

Stepping on the dais I

heard the lady sing, "Put

your hat on the hook, boy,

we're in full swing. The

river don't run backwards

and an apple a day, can't

change the weather on a

rainy day."

We dance through the night

and I drank her wine, and

before we were done, she

drank all mine. When morning

came and the baker's bell rang,

I found my hat where I knew

it would hang.

I ran to the river, but the

ferryman said, "Take the road

less traveled, stay out of your

head."

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" A S I M P L E T W I S T 30X80

Gold slips through my

fingers as if it's molten

lead. The silver's lost its

shimmer and might

as well be dead.

I'll wager half my paycheck

and my mother's silver band,

if the one-eyed jack and the

queen of spades will walk

into my hand.

Lillies have their fine array

and sparrows do not reap,

but the only things that I

can trust are those that I

can keep.

I hear a bad beat comin',

comin' round the bend. If

loser's luck will leave me

free to draw God's

golden hand.

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SONOMA BLUE 20x80"

California, ancient
goddess that you are,
your verdant valleys and
your arterial faults that
quiver to the touch, I
sense your vastness and
your fertile curve’s
embrace.

Your saline breath
crosses my emotions
as it penetrates my
deepest yearning to
be free.

The knotted oak takes
its lonely stance as on
a golden chess board,
while the spiring redwood
seeks to enter within
Orion’s gate.

In solitude I marvel at
your desert walls that
unfurl to forever, and
the graceful curve of
your breasts as they
cut through cirrus skies.

Your rivers course into
my veins. I see the salmon’s
arc and the steelhead’s
strong determination,
while the rainbow trout,
with his quiet gaze, keeps
me frozen in my place.

Fair fruit of Sonoma,
valley of the gods, your
name has surely risen to
become the northern star.

Renew me daily until such
time that I enter your
embrace, and keep me
firmly planted in my
vision of your face.

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