Art

My mind—

Which usually perplexes me—

Gets excited by art.

Likes to dunk the world

Into color, and tack

On words

My mind is Narcissus who—

Under the beguiling face

Of an indifferent gentleman—

Observes in awe

Made shivery and excited

By great stories, colors, and words

Caught up in these outside reflections

Unable to gaze away

From a beauty

Both ugly and pretty

A sweet, indifferent face

Gaping forward considering

Flakey autumn leaves like scales

Hanging off trees, a sliver of light through the

Blind, the purple evening air engulfing

The room

A slave to both beauty

And her beast

Who dreams of working

In design or literature

Because living

Without those moments— that

transcend reality but

Live deep within it—life

Wouldn’t make sense