for her

 Old words shine at us through the dust.

they come up through the slums of the mind

like new worlds.

only to be chocked
out by small
ideas.
 
It is as difficult
as trust
to create art
here.
 
look around, the pieces to work with
are missing. They need to be
created or found.
The people should be generous 
but the people are seldom
generous.
They think it is easy
for us to put out water
with fire.
 
But there has been no wasted effort
No matter what they have done 
to us…
 
the people
the lost love
the lost will.
 
Damn them all anyhow
they are hardly as interesting as…
 
this place, this special place
for us.
 
We know there should be a better place.
an easier place,
but there is not…
that is our secret
and its not much,
but it is
enough.
 
we have chosen the lonely,
withering fire.
 
to create art means
to be crazy alone
forever.