Discomfuddle
It escapes my not head right? Christ, this feeling, this ohgod, absolute lonely & content, the beast wringing it out communication. Impossible to say what exactly mean I? Fallout, clunky. Bang a musical approx. No, a paint. No, a bang violent typestyle. A lonely, a shallow shadow. How? Of no beauty of truth on some gray.
' '
I wrote a poem about a wall. It was white or gray. It was too specific so I deleted it. I wrote a poem about a blank plane. It had no hue nor color. It was too perfect so I deleted it. I wrote a poem about a sphere. It was white or gray. It was too dynamic so I deleted it.
Canon
You hold no
mirror to me.
Art is not
supposed to be
that. That–
what you’ve done
with proportion,
does not reflect.
Too digital
the bird’s flight.
Why should he fly
any other way?
No,
far too ugly
& alienating.
The wrong emotion
won’t get you
published,
the wrong subject
will not hang
on my wall.
Beauty,
the good kind,
and nothing else
is truth.
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