Art might be

Art
might be
the evidence of
god.

To explain art
is to kill it.
To live behind it
is to know the only side
that's not worth knowing.


Art
might be
the evidence of
god.


Both are felt
in cracks between
lust and sleep,
pain and numbness.


Both
are breathed in
but not exhaled.


Both are the jist
of something else
and the jist itself.


Both sound
like one another
but never like themselves.


Neither is literal,
neither is metaphor
for neither
is anything at all.


Both
are just dumb ideas
like life's a dumb idea
- at least in the absence of death.
Death
might be
the evidence of
life.


Art
might be
the evidence of
god.
For if it all made sense,
we wouldn't sketch
or curse the sky.


Is eating toast
or breaking an arm
artistic?
To clean a shoe:
is that artistic?
Art
might be
the evidence of
god
when we're cleaning shoes
for the feet of
god


whether god exists
or not.


For neither, really,
does art exist.


Art
might be
the evidence of
god
for we talk of art as if we can,
as if art's an actual thing


- we feel it, though;
we sense it's there


and sense it
might be evidence of
something else,
too.