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.
She was suspicious that everyone in the room was melting. The man sitting at the coffee table directly in her line of sight was
While he sleeps I catalogue his body. When he is awake I keep my distance. While he dreams I touch and map in a
he swears that the desert is laughing, mocking him with the distant wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. each spray of dry
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