The first art
Was not art,
Rather, a color line shot through the dark,
No more expression
Than a plea for explanation.
The grandest monuments
And greatest terrible wars
Were all done for the sake
Of a loving God,
For a ready answer,
An easy mistake.
___
The featured image accompanying this poem, entitled ‘Check Mate’, have been used with the permission of artist Patricio Betteo.
I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart
Maya puts away our coffee-cups – I’ll rinse them after our walk, along with the produce for lunch – and stands behind me, massaging my neck at the right spot.
I have not always had my medication to protect me from epilepsy, to keep my hand steady while I handled boiling grease and kitchen
