I wanted to start a new life, one of figures minus art,
Letting the butterflies go their way–with or without freedom.
A blue cup stood for nothing, no orphan or beggar,
No longing for rescue. I swear I’d had it.
Morning frost, sun on flowers
Held no method. This was life
Like a dog’s–eye for shadow,
Feet in cold grass; head up,
Thoughts on stray clouds, thrilled
Without meaning, the vagaries
Of weeds and water, bearing me up.
I knew. Said it early, by eighteen,
Art for dog’s sake, vertiginous,
No angels, no studios, none.
Planet of the Blind 