I know.  I know.  You're a serious artist,
And your sort exists on a rarified plane,
And your work is too difficult for all us
Others to fathom.  We traffic in hardscrabble
Sentences, hoping to be understood
On the spot.  You blow smoke and weave
Dreamscapes of disjointed images,
Playing your role as you learned it in
School.  Artist as shaman and savior
And psycho, so proud of your efforts,
Though we think them failures, since
Each of them must be explained.