The Pursuit Manifesto

Slather black ink on a blue page
and ask it why it's sad.
An art keeps arting and fuming
and copying and learning
and smithing and shifting
and fills every notebook
with love and despair.

Every pair of morsels churned
keeps an artist from starving.
Especially when the greatest tries
are eaten alive.

The only dead art is the one that stops.

Practice poems everyday.
Cramp hands in rubber bands
and fill all the pages
of all the books
of every moment.

The only atonement for art
is the pursuit of it.

Soak deep the tear filled rage
until all the cages are unlocked
and you are exposed,
naked,
expo-ed for all the world to see.
Eat shame from the handmade basket/casket
and watch the world laugh at you
with a bitter sorrow.
See their trembling lips
and feel your shoulders lift.