MayBePrecious

To create and to destroy is a poet's, thinker's, job. For in his mind there is a world ruled by sticky, oily colors whose worldly physics are denied. Interfering, behaving, mixing, undefined. Glossy, fading shades, like gas on water. To share a mix of constant changes: disassemblement, destruction, definition, reconstruction, evolution comes to mind - as a word without meaning in a haze of mixed feelings, ideas. Laid down as the brush crosses canvas. What's created gets, rather is, defined, through repetition it's denied of becoming something entirely new. Silence. Damp cold silence. As the known fades into ripples of a former truth, dissol