how every breath must be a work of art.
but you don’t really understand modern art,
just some lines and dots of reductionist cello
music or furniture that hurts to sit on. when
your life begins to come down to some lines
and some swirls, you know it’s time to start
throwing paint cans around. so you began
to look for a Muse for real. you penciled some
dots and dashes on paper but you didn’t really
know Morse code. they were just some staccato
scratchings that looked like they were trying to
tell you something that won’t ever translate.


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