I might happily have thrived at another crossroads
Painting in oils in neoplatonic archness. A white zinc
To follow a flightpath out /

A green thumb trying to paint and cover

A big space with dabs of marine titanium that dilate
Blurring the root truth of good-faith setbacks for an hour —

A genocidal collage of screens, diversions
Rocking to agitated waves, reproached, converged
In drumming opinions and science-y, practices — How the world is!

Climbing off the board with no fears —
Holy Albert Hirschman!