connected by the
twisting of our
lungs (the air
meets with the inner
workings and
have *** under the
last light of the
yellowing moon) oh,
is it poetry or just
a murmured tangle of
fragments that dangle meaning
in front of you (
laughingly- i am the
naked king, and
you are the false awe)
;find purpose in
these words because
it is the first time
they have ever been spoken
(written, preached, given)
in such an arrangement
and the last time
even i will remember
what they meant to say
been thinking bout the question of 'what really is art?' is there a line that ever needs to be drawn? does the artist themselves need to know the meaning behind it, or is it based on what the viewer gains?
i had a discussion with a buddy a few weeks ago on the topic of modern art. the concept of art has become so vague (not necessarily a bad thing) but often it is "faux deep"-- and then rich people purchase it so they can brag about having it in their houses. perhaps the problem lies in those who create "abstract art" with the intent of selling it for an obscene amount of money, rather than bestowing it with genuine meaning. but then again, if someone finds actual value in a piece of work, even if it's not the meaning the artist intended, should that praise be given to the artist?
anyway, this poem is nonsense.