As evidence is marshalled through time,
As the biases of an age are criss-crossed
Against those of another, as the dots
From precedents rush towards their
Syllogistic antecedents drawing a fine
Iron line through time, the ascetic,
the reactionary and the entitled can spew
Bile, raise hell, cry foul, the tiny dots
Persist in connecting: this much is certain.


Art is in the sleight of the wand that
In rapid strokes, in steady deliberate
Strokes, in contemplative non-strokes,
Illustrates what was lying potent on
The blank sheet waiting to be eked out
By the simple prod of external stimuli, aided by
The eye, the accomplice, the intermediary,
The medium, the human all too human midwife
In the process of giving birth to form.