Thursday, September 5, 2013


a fluid mosaic
slapped onto a rusted iron anvil,
hammered down upon with increasing ferocity,
but it does not bend,
it does not splash,
it does not so much as move.

I try to make sense of it all,
of the reasons why I’ve done what I’ve done,
seeking some sort of underlying logic,
a noble, mysterious truth,
or perhaps just counterfactual justifications
overlapping simpler explanations,

a steel rod
that spends no time in the forge
cannot be manipulated by the blacksmith;

perhaps it is the same with any craft,
with even us artists,
who need time for pressure to build
before we can have a say
in the how and when of our creativity’s release

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