Unmarked cards (a poem)

Thinking about art and artists…

‘My mark is not the concept
but its distortion’

They could be my spirit animals—
one I might aspire to be
one much more like me
both now spirit

Then there’s the one
whose path I have paralleled
from a timeline staggered by birth—
always a recluse of sorts
now prone to looking back

And men of shadow boxes
and endless loops
trading in textures
and permutations
colors existing outside the lines

She of dots and infinite repetition
mirrored incantations
without human presence
play’s the thing—and the enigma

I do not recognize
my lasting contribution
I may never have that moment—
then again, as the song says
I couldn’t bear to be special

(23 November 2018)

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