. . . and so it's Storyville Which signifies the liquid state beneath The shifty stars and lust we gave away Yesterday when time's sharp point aligned Another way, great Alexander lived A sober life and Bonaparte triumphed At Waterloo. The stories, see, are changeable And want an artful eye to fix them hard, To measure out the words before they twist, Amoeba-like, in that primordial sea, And tell another life than this poor tale Of you and me and he and she. Don't think. Storyville is what we make of it, A particularity that floats upon The World's insubstantial quantum sea. To be an artist is to be a man Who paints a face on reality.
© 2013 Harlen Campbell