People are complicated—artists perhaps. Traumas.
Inchoate feelings make their art better.
I’ve always hated that the insane artist,
Van Gogh, for instance,
turned into an advertisement for madness.
And now we’re so intent on
the mind that made.
Sure, sometimes you go out to the edge
to get a better view of the world,
the creator, the choice.
But I have friends who hold onto
their neuroses proudly.
They think these make their
A double shadow:
this compulsion of assessment,
and of fear and of attention seeking,
knowing that creativity can extend to everything (HA!).
Even the guy who’s spackling the wall,
or drafting stick people at work with
We are normal to honour complexity
when the truth is that we cannot
even draw a straight line.