Another Adoration of the Divine

I don't know...

if artists have a moral compass:
when everything is beautiful
good and bad can be so nebulous,
when our faintest gasp of feeling
deeply echoes in the seas,
when the face is only seen
in our constant rearrangements,
when the colors that are missing
are those not yet painted in,
when the lesson's in the working
through the masks and the materials,
the grand unveiling nothing
but a stone that fell to earth.

All I know...

the graffiti in the tunnels
is always darker
—no flowers here—
curses.