Monday, December 15, 2014

Life Becomes Conveyance

No time for life, the waking hours
populated by frames, skeletons of sketches,
dreams, ideas, revisited memories



No time for life on this killing floor
of artistic creation––a job and hence
lifeless, talent unwound and tied to commerce



Escape to the ideal planet where
thoughts, dreams astound
where reality mirrors vision vexed



not constricted, no chains of status, belonging––
commerce, pride, cages and cages
we make for ourselves to hoard trinkets.



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