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.
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