I think he is a little crazy.
Spent too long with his nose in turpentine.
He paints like Kung Fu Drunken Master.
From the heart. His head
is filled with feathers, fish,
and residue from owlish midnight snacks.
When he goes home he sits on the porch step
drinking beer. He waves at strangers
in their little cars because
that’s what an old man does
until the sun goes to bed. He sweeps
and sets the breakfast table, feeds the cat,
drops his pants and flies away.