Technique is the test of sincerity,
so far, so Ezra Pound, damning his chisel
faced with obstinate marble. The writer is on a quest
to sculpt a throne from a dream, any dream,
and professors want students to explicate
or summarize a piece so that they may feel it
once the jumbled words fall away and the
piece shines its naked message to the reborn plain eye.
Can we breach what has been conditioned
through tradition? Some learn, some teach.
And this is where the fun starts. Smithing
cufflinks into into chains to adorn our brides
of the mind, as our thoughts fly freeeeeeee
requires passion and we have it as we make it ours,
our freedom (is) the creed to inflict a blunt-force
trauma by way of the pen unto the down-trodden
overly worn paths that would be used to fence us in
and we deliberately offend the nay-sayers
and potential swayers of our minds:
The point is: These are our words, as trained
or un-trained as we see fit, from our mouths
flung into the faces of our beholders;
This Is We: Raw, Un-Cut.
Art is un-hard: our words -> our art