An Artistic Life
It's funny, the things that pass for art I wake upon a sidewalk, fold my blankets, head down 24th street for a charity breakfast; then paint a vibrant portrait of the moment You call it art, and say it's beautiful A harried woman on a park bench pours despair & failure into my ears; hours later, I tell her story with a paintbrush You call it art, and say it's beautiful I spend a night with a broken woman in a frigid room lit by twenty candles, both of us, immersed in lethal pleasures; next day, I find a sober moment alone with pen & paper, and remember her You call it art and praise me for my brilliant insight It's funny how you and I can find such beauty in my sordid little life, how you can find enlightment in a drunken bum lounging at a bus stop with no place to go except into your eyes and ears and mind- It's funny, what passes for art Written February 20th, 2002 © on Feb 20 2002 06:11 AM PST 10 • 0
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"It's funny, the things that pass for art..."