Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere. |
Each night I walk along the curving shore
behind my house, hands eager to grasp...
I found a small treasure while walking down
a familiar street. Of course I kept it...
Reclining from the desk
I begin to imagine...
Love-
If it's real...unconditional, undivided...
Sins my wrist
and fierce...
My girl, he says, later
you're a love song...
She whispers his name
doesn't matter, he can't hear it...
Be my altar, he whispers
i supplicate...
Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere. |