Art in Anxious Time


I’m anxious and it’s

hard to write


art expressed in pain:

I don’t know how

those artists do it


maybe it’s big fear

and nihilistic agony

that keeps them

going, that prompts

expression that might

change the world

and everything



the gardeners at

Hiroshima and

Nagasaki must

accomplish this


I have small pains

and many things that

trouble me—yes,

sometimes they are

bad as in raw—

unformed, unfixed,


though I think the

only one that might

be changed through

treating these in art

is me


still, through all

the small-town

clay-house conflicts

I might strive to

express something



something that might

relate to you




(the teacher and good

sport in me should tell

you that clay house

is a Puritan metaphor)