How

What does all this mean to me?

I cannot answer easily.

Sometimes I live by second-hopping,

Or in chunks of days, not stopping.

Regardless of my presence state,

The fact I’m here I can’t debate.

So what remains is to decide

The way in which I will abide.

“What” falls short in my own head.

“How” is what I’d ask instead.

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No Future?

Why bother with an art?

It’s messy from the start!

It won’t ever make you money,

Unless it’s popular or funny.

Why get involved with stone or paint?

Why your reputation taint?

Do something practical, not fight

To get the words or shading right.

Music’s nice to listen to,

But there’s no future there for you.

Say…

Can you help me decorate?

I’ve seen your stuff; it’s really great!

How do I speak these words of love?

Yes, that’s what I was thinking of!

How shall we now be entertained?

Singer, actors! Glad they’re trained!

See that mural?! Wow, so cool!

Glad she’s not in business school.

Art is called expendable,

Yet it is indispensible.

As firefighters stop a blaze,

So art inspires in many ways.