I am not confused simply busy
Now leave before I get grizzly.

Whatever do you mean?
I am here under strict orders
Of spontaneous curiosity
And I demand to know your work!

There is no work, only pieces.
I am a man of completion, not creases.

You are a mule molding in mire!
Old as rules and just as amusing.
I can see very clearly that this is
A pile of stones playing with
A pile of paper!

By my own universal exclamation!
I could not find a greater quotation,
If I remain as rocks, this is my notation.
One stone for each adoration.

Adoration? I see nothing of the sort
Only lines and space and ink and air
And breath and fire and ash and an
Old man with far too many abandoned
Projects.

Where do you see this fire?
Of yearning and burning, I do tire.
I have wheeled through many a choir,
Each lie is a life and each man a liar.
Now, do you understand my profession?

Not in the slightest,
You could be a blacksmith for all
I want.
My young vision has cast fishnets
On your old hands and we find you
Are not a sea creature,
Not a fish
A bird
Trash
A man
An oracle
A mortal
Nor a machine.
How am I to pull together this puzzle
When the only pieces i may use,
Are the ones that were never there?