A Venue

What future comes from
A void
What place
What pathway

Wholly empty
Completely at a loss
In my loss
As to where I should start
Caught in all that chaos

Where can I begin
To sort the wheat
From chafe
The sheep
From goats
The boys
From men
The truth
From lies
The
What was
From the
What is

They say that art
Seeks
What is and what is not
Which makes it a fair companion for the lost
Like me

They say that art
Like love
Is but discovery

But I have been recovered
Like an old couch
Re-upholstered
So many times
I wonder
What lost
Is left

So I protest:
I cannot start with art
I do not even know
What is

And in the denseness of my argument
I sense the arteries of creation
Narrowing
Constricting flow

And I hear the barest whisper
Of a voice I know
Offering
Not guidance
No that would be too too gauche

But just a thought
An idea
A …perhaps

Perhaps you should just push the boat out and write
Perhaps this is the thing you should do

Perhaps this is the thing to do

To write