Art is lost

He is standing in the middle of the street, just standing and staring at the hollow space expecting it to be filled by the piercing headlights of the night bus. He has had enough; he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. “Oh enchanted night of the glorious lost, come take me away. I wish…

The Muse of Momus

Wondering in the arbour of the soulless divine, What am I to do if not conform to crime? Sick and bereft from the constraints of my heart, The mind that feints to be recluse as my fault   Extol the genius, who gave me my skill, To jibe the inane with gruesome tirade, But what…