multi


i’ve entangled myself in quite the predicament this time.

the true artist may never successfully perform an about-face
in the duration
of his
creative peak,
his anabolic
bloom
towards a wholeheartedly egocentric
way of dreaming,

without having all the limbs sheared from his poetic body

by the might of his momentum.

however,
during these times i find myself
emotionally
complete, and withal by having
drifted for such a time on
my own inertia,
i have finally come to a crossroads in this contemplative state of flux.

whereas i had been led down
the same winding path
for so many years, five if i might count,
i now find myself facing
the opposite direction,

staring down the barrel of an endless cannon,
about to be
bombarded, or better still,

annihilated
by that which has suffered me thus,
as unaware i might
have once been of my demise,
in the cool steel death that
awaits my prevalence in those matters
deemed too impulsive for the
wandering eye,

should it trouble me that
i find unrelenting warmth and consolation
in the antithesis
of my nature as an artist, or worse,

as a human being?




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