come home to a room
scattered elements and leaning towers
a pile of ******* wrought askew
as the linen bunches waves of the hour

dusty sunlight filtered through curtains
an artist breathing of thoughts gone vivid
papers pencils books and parcels nothing retains
as the artist pours over the jar of living thoughts so livid

time etches timeless, unguided and unforeseen
pastels and paint, words and typewriters
they all glitter in the eyes never to cease
like stars afar in galaxies aflame and brighter  

the world shuffles by, smacking their lips
as the artist pours over the jar of living thoughts
they may even close their eyes and fall in a ditch
no worries, this artist would rather not

the scattered papers smudges of visions
coffee cup stains and food wrappers remain
a reason there's an invisible division
between the ******* who don't

and the ones who do, unconstrained  
*sit tight