Aesthetic Miasma

Aesthetic Miasma I paint a wild song and my canvas screams at your instruments Electric signs blaze in and out to absurd rhythms of drunken urban jazz Outside this dirty window the concrete sculpts jealous feet - smokes and dazzles in raw midnight stupor There's a smear on reality while surrealism lives unbroken There's a miasma in someone's mind they call aesthetic Creating and performing a glorious mess eating fashion drinking dust suffering on water-colored music You have a muse, you imagine who shimmers and chokes and is your balance You compose a harmony called waste and grace and chisel your own heart with my pen And I flail for the surface of yourocean of hypnotic melodies Rivers run dry and the naked go truly nude The sky is red, soft, deep, mad... would that only we had more art, time, sense, and passion