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.
Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007
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