when you live with an artist

you have to put up with their temperament  odd passions    and indebtedness to things

they cant rightly call theirs

you put up with no-holds barred contests 

                                                                                                                    

bindings  bruised feelings   and lacerations

  

sex in the craziest places

Oh

       and desperate panting Liberation

                                             like gaping holes torn in new shirts and blouses 

you live by clutching tempestuously

soothed  and cradled demurely

                                  

Exist

            holding in your hands things rare

never seen before

secret

                                  

Sacred 

         And you turn your back and walk out on what you think you comprehend

working at planes either so small

                                    to be impossible

or so immense to be improbable

they agreed together

  

stubbornly compromising

what one believes is trash 

                             is the others inviolable treasure

1646,  Friday, 14  8. 15