Coming to terms with the world at small.
Do you think that means anything at all?
Time: construct for cosmic construction.
Pimple on God’s face: a pustule eruction.
We say, hey Mom, hey Mom, look at this.
We’re hushed, pushed away, just ignored.
How can anyone simply ignore our bliss?
Till time passed retorts not ignored, bored.
There are many lovely things, by definition
Ants, chucked corn cobs, soggy corrugated
By themselves embodied, with no addition
Dirty diapers, dazzling diamonds so related
While you may not know art or what it’s for
Hein said, only “one art, no more, no less:”
And his definition carves it right to the core
All art is “to do all things with artlessness.”