January 23rd, 2021

Wide Eyed 

I get disheartened when an artist tells 
me they’re bored.  It’s especially brutal 
if I’ve adored you and the art propels 
my own rhetoric, research,
collections of folders some might besmirch. I think 
Stanley Kubrick would have approved though I’ve 
no warehouse of boxes when I’m extinct 
to prove my passion for working still thrives 
between poems and books.  We live 
amidst fascinations.  If we stay spry,
wide eyed enough, work is transformative. 
Suture eyes shut someday after I die
with the stories I’ve written, some I hoard. 
I’ll die exhausted.  I never lived bored.