David Radavich



To those who create overmuch

I say: Let it go. Your muse leans over

the railing, she squints, has a hump

on one side that hobbles home.


Let her dance only at the full moon,

arms spinning like silk, death

gone from the gilt mirror

yet lurking under her feet, the bones

you put there to be reflected on,


know the artist’s business should be

to get out of the way of life,

let it happen and walk unafraid,

not words but deeds—or if you must,

a pirouette the pedagogues discuss.


Copyright © 2003 David Radavich.  All Rights Reserved.

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