Reflecting on the Mystery

It must consume the human to be art –
this proto-porphyry cartoon –
this hunger to be beautiful – part
craving for attention, part platoon

of murky not-quite fleur-de-lis
all aching one day to be worn
by some grand emissary –
or, wily as a courtesan, adorn

the bedroom of a potent prince:
an indiscriminate perfection
so complete it must evince
its own voluptuous election

to a state of masterpiece: a stay
against the mumble of its heart.
But now it’s only purple clay.
It must consume the human to be art.

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