If I were to walk two hours in the heat, carrying my canvases through wild blackberries into the heart of the grass seed fields, and spend the day painting while hunger gnaws at my bones, and then come home exhausted with no means for my bills, and if you found me here, sitting on my only chair, ministered by angels and haunted by ghosts, what would you say to me? Would you say it’s crazy to live this way? Or would you demand my late rent? I know you need the money. I know you want it too. That’s the difference between us. I want nothing, and my need speaks for itself.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces