The Peaceful In Art

The insence smoke makes my eyes water. The candles flicker natural light onto magazine-cut-out-stained cement walls. The ipod is plugged in. it’s charging its own battery. Kent wafts melodies into me. There are no tears Because I’m doing what I want to do I’m not doing what was assigned, Required, Desired of me. I’m doing what I want to do And it feels fine. The cat made the appartment smell again, Apparently. I don’t want to clean it up. I will let the common room stench itself But I’ll burn the smell out of my own room So I can at least Have that something to myself. There are colors here that aren’t in nature. There are colors together that can’t exist together In nature. There’s a longing here That can be fulfilled! Yes it can be fulfilled by one easy brushstoke Or two There are eyes here that need some sleep And they may have it Before or after the sun goes down; Whenever they want. I don’t want! I don’t need! I long, I desire I hunger With a hunger so deep I long with a longing not need Or needing But a long Longer than the longing of mankind. What was that longing anyway. I can wear my jewelry when I paint. I used to have to take it off to run the relay. Here I can wear the ring grandmother gave me Which is good because it makes me feel powerful and godlike. I am not a goblin But they do haunt my dreams. I am not a person But they do haunt my life And this is what is peaceful about art It can be done, Completed Alone Completely Solitary In solitary Confinement.