Art Appreciation

Did you ever moan at Lisa the bartender while gracelessly nudging forth your empty chalice then had your sleep of reason shattered by the statuesque arms of David the bouncer as he throws you out into the realism of the callous world? Hopefully not. Have you ever stood, a wanderer below the mist of a decaying city and despite the persistence of memory forgotten happiness while watching a homeless man vomit his last supper into Jackson Pollock’ number 8 beneath a starry night? Perhaps not. But maybe you have stood before the mirror and watched that withered portrait beneath its coat of madness look up at you and ask “Is there still life?”

gene16180

My muse can be unseemly and nomadic although she fancies meter and good rhyme, her diligence and output are sporadic, and some may say she’s moving past her prime. At times she’s off consorting with the sages reflecting on existence, as it were, At...

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