true genius
can only be
as rare
as stupidity.
Of finesse
and expertise, of course
very few can speak;
and yet,
in our dreams
(which,
however lonely,
amorous, or horrible—
however brassy technicolor
or dishwater brown and
tarnished silver—
are justified
moment by moment solely
by the fact of their unfolding),
each of us
is brimming
with vision and prowess.
No sleeper
was ever particular,
meticulous,
discerning;
but all are quite
industrious—
every one's
an artist.
