A Letter

My beloved, You smoke too much Your ceiling is a canvas to it Do not be silly and reverse my statement. Arrogance. If it was me then it would be art A fresco inspirational of a new shift and vortexes coiling I would demand a proclaimation of brilliance and Slowly recount under amber silences Art is art, by artist or by lunatic You smoke too much You make a Chernobyl skyline of yourself I know every crack in that damned ceiling I know every aspect of the room There is no corner I have not searched and no vase I have not smashed I'm quite a World War too Regardless we are clung, half-witted and thumbed into blurs You do not move me I remain completely unchallenged I did once want to I remain uncompromised, not for lack of trying These are volatile times and I get bored so easily I was a reflection and I wanted something precious A shadow who dreamt of falling ridiculously into light However, I'm afraid it's come to my attention that I'm Letting go and letting god He can do the nasty business as I recount The mirror image photography of the Napalm-splattered, star-spattered ceiling. Good bye.