Stroke by Genius

What changed you, are there some credits 

                                                 you should roll?

Was it James or Pablo that altered Steins view,

smartly, she said Henry, but we see reality by Picasso,

who chose distance to close in his view, 

                                                 making imagery true

deftly in paint and tone and on monotone, she drones on

in her oboe wind; Williams drinks down the Dionysus wine,

loose lipped, they slur together...same tune, 

                                                  sung the wrong song.

Was there a moment you became you?

Who was there claiming responsibility for all 

that you are, you are, yoar, no more non-sense,

blaspheme by contest, in jest, we protest and 

                                                 already we have infested 

too much to undo, not saying enough, playing tough

                                                  and rugged,

this is New, as good as-gold-as good as dead, and it was 

                                                   Good.

Where sparks once flew, the artist extinguishes with 

                                                    billows of blue, it will turn-.-

Image credit By Wide World Photos [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Doomsday of Dionysus

If it were dreamt
by a brilliant mind
it would be, come
divine prophecy.
And genius was one
prophecy away from lunacy,
we would certainly
believe
in the phantasy.

Time,
we would learn
to stretch a point
into a limber line,
into an affinity
of likeness in light.

The expiration
and expectation
of the End, of our race
of the chase, over-
taken by night
led a long, long the way
by our own
four shadows.

We would cry,
caulk our eyes
and think again
of never
the same tomorrow,
while waking
through the day
four saking 
the dream, imagining control
over (coming) what may (come)
too tired of trying
to rise again.

Unwound
in the pendulums pause
exhausted
all ready
the urge to be done
with desire
hung over our heads.
It never dawned 

Up 

on us
We will
Be come
intoxicated
incinerated
in opta-mystic yellow
when the sun doesn't show.

The divine mind is “…the brilliant darkness of a hidden silence.”-Dionysus

Image from Splendor Solis c. 1582 (Germany), [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.