i'm being a brute on the universally identifiable
colour of defeat, nowhere will you find
a painter entrapped by some sort of apologetics
of drawing a square, or drawing in red, black, white,
but writing leaves you prone to all assortments
of apologetics when your use of language
becomes less poetic and more casual,
and when it becomes casual it hurts, because
the poetics asked for a sense of security
that a reader might experience when the writer
heaves a sigh of relief at writing in the vein
of an edenic root of exposure:
the 2nd eden leaves all the genitalia exposed
(given *******), and all the other limbs
hidden.