Here again they bit at him, annoyed,
The trivialities working their way in,
Distracting, taking any focus.
Futile attempts at casual dismissal
For he is unsettled by the wave after wave,
The daily detail that threatens to submerge
The artist adrift in the inconsequential
The man who can’t laugh it off in this flood.
Affected again, stewing in his juices,
Failing to get the most from his time.
Did the anguish help mold him as a man?
Did it sharpen the artist, in the end?
Or was it just brutally indifferent Time
Effectively wounding him day by day?
More from Issue #2
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