my work
takes me to
higher end
apartment
complexes
where the most
complex ideal
is the terrible
decorations
which are meant
to seem lavish
yet mash together
in a hodge podge
which says nothing
in overabundance

i like to stare
at the paintings
seeing hidden
currents in the
brushstrokes to
find the soul of
the tortured artist
buried in paint
there is wonder
in finding your
own story in the
art of another which
fuels my heartchasm

yet i find myself
surrounded by
a random collection
of meaningless faux
tchotchkes spread
out in an attempt
to seem cultured
while missing the
culture aspect totally
this homogenization of
misunderstood artistry
a gray slurry drowning
the flame of creation