The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.

Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1922)

he's an artist without hands

without teeth

without toes

without tongue

in his head he paints

landscapes of unseen pleasures

he could save the world

in his mind a sculpture

oh it is devastating

and beautiful

there would never be another war

if he only had hands

it is the way of the universe

to cripple the astonishing

he crawls his body

like a worm

over canvases

he kneels in the clay

and pushes and pulls

away the day

but it will never be

as lovely as a tree

inspiration

that's what others say

his art is inspiration

but that is a long way

a long

way

from expectation

no escape

for an artist

no escape
from interpretation