The Artist Formerly Known As Little Rattle Stilt

i’ll sit down to spin one of these

or set up to create

but my name is known 

and always my mind is summoned away

i have these ideas about art

its value in my dreams is measureless

and my needs are small

after the demands of modern life are met

sometimes i get online and search

“what is the point of art”

i don’t know why i am never reassured

it’s no use tearing myself in two

and i’ve no mountain cottage to run to

so i seek out any scattered times

deemed barren by contemporary standards

and if i escape the rattling ghosts in my head

self-loathing and dread

i enter that ethereal wilderness

where i can melt into words

or strokes of pencil or paint on cold press pages

and there it feels like spinning sheaves into gold