We can still
Know where everything
Everyone is
And be lost
Home isn’t somewhere
You’d have receive mail
Just as you won’t always find
God in the church
And my wildness has known
The shadows of bars
Falling asleep in captivity
But home is a person
As much as a place
And I fall into
Space with you
Kisses like
Twinkling lights
Hands as pilgrims
Slip past the gates
Of your clothes
Warm from sleep
And set them to
Worship
MB Blissett 
Brilliant, Matt. You take a quick sketch, what some might glance at without so much as a second thought, but then you develop it with your journeyman’s skill into a painting so exquisitely executed as to make me insist on multiple viewings. Each more comfortable than the last. I am in awe of how your work has changed over time. Your journey has been one of pain but always poise. Keep them coming, mate.
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