Art is an unshaven stranger
with a delicious
rainbow of candy
inviting you
into his van.  
The danger is that
you'll get
lost in art
and never
crawl back out . . .
which can be
both delicious
and deadly.
He scatters
doubloons of butterscotch at
your small, wary feet
dancing a jig of joy and
fear, walking a tightrope
of excited tension and
nervous expectation . . .
and we are hummingbirds
seeking the nectar of
creativity and abandon,
lupine and columbine of
words and pigment and harmony,
and we flutter forward,
amnesiacs to the cost,
for the sweetness
of genius marrying
peril and possibility
in a ceremony
of light,
a flurry of color, tint, and shade,
both particle and wave.