23/04/2015

#poem #poetry #amwriting #sketcbook

for only in imperfection
does truth lie

only in the grass growing
from concrete slabs
of the architects dream

there can be no honesty
in that which is beyond
critique

or has the stamp of convention

the true artist knows this
and consciously
smears shit on the critic
and the lover
and the foe

consciously tuned perfection
demands
the trained ear to hear it
and reject

only then can a work sing
from the gutter

be more than money
and praise



The Blue Book