I always come back to the empty canvas
Where we each write the story of our life.
The blankness shouts its anger at the page
And demands to know something. But what?

I want to be entertained at least amused.
Words like shells should blow the page apart
Ideas sink ships revealing all the wrecks
And there will be comfort and repose.

Ha! Ha! the moment shouts, you silly man!
Have you not learned that vanity's the only prize
That slumbering and rotting in a bed of earth
Is where you came from and belong.

It's just a play where rules change day to day
Where words of every sort and every place
Tumble headlong into one huge boiling vat
Are torn apart, fermented and then that's that.