The Object Of The Artist Is The

The Artist Who Could Disentangle The Subtle Soul Of The Image From Its Mesh Of Defining Circumstances Most Exactly And 're-embody' It In Artistic Circumstances Chosen As The Most Exact For It In Its New Office, He Was The Supreme Artist.

His Heart Danced Upon Her Movement Like A Cork Upon A Tide.

Alone, What Did Bloom Feel? The Cold Of Interstellar Space, Thousands Of Degrees Below Freezing Point Or The Absolute Zero Of Fahrenheit, Centigrade Or Réaumur: The Incipient Intimations Of Proximate Dawn.

Like The Tender Fires Of Stars Moments Of Their Life Together, That No One Knew Of Or Would Ever Know Of, Broke Upon And Illuminated His Memory.

That Ideal Reader Suffering From An Ideal Insomnia.