composition

dear conrad, thad, and mister d,

the task is soon to be complete,

my body of work conclusion,

some of it ready to compete,

is it art? there’s no guarantee.

endlessly drifting universe

of strange empty expectations,

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useless words, tiresome seclusion,

vague meaningless regulations

seem particularly diverse.

dear conrad, thad, and mister d,

i’ve loved the row and counterpoint,

motifs, modes, stylistic fusion,

critics say “hello, what’s the point?”

but i’ll remain a devotee.

Photo by javier trueba on Unsplash