a love for theory ate away my ability
to problem solve into obscurity the
needs of your complexity

i settled instead for a lack of love of
the art you paint and while gazing
lustfully into an unplanned opus of
the written word created by a hand
a hundred years ago on soil near
to that which my cushioned chair
upon cement block is bolted into
the ground upon

my mind now occupied with concepts
and dreams of scenarios played out
in my imagination to solve problems
instead of paint pictures. with words.
like i used to.