The Faces of Strangers

It is ultimately essential
for an artist to exist entirely
–at important crossroads–
in deep spaces where the artist
is convinced finally and fully
Absolutely convinced this time
that no one cares anymore
about their precious gifts

No longer audiences
to pamper indulgences and whims
Humility-feigned egos left un-stroked
Vast and empty of contexts,
Attention diverted from contexts,
all lost in the clarity of self
The truth may stand a chance
when it's shouted into the faces of strangers

No one knows No one cares
how compulsions trigger
fads eras and delineation
Discrete and finite
Like the stars seen and not
always present in tiny corners
of active and historic cognition
Where we are hardly ever alone

What remains may hold a certain clarity
Of tone Of Spirit Of depth
vast distances reduced
intuitively enveloped warm and fuzzy
sometimes lost
sometimes forever
But no longer does the destination matter
when you’re already there