I cannot explain, nor must an artist defend his work or elucidate in such a way the reeling audience can fathom, brutes that they are.
Curiosity did not kill the cat all by itself.
I turn away and stare through the window at the field where the scotch broom creeps yellow as hell toward my doorstep. Six years and it has advanced from the hinterlands to the picket fence in the back yard. Six more years and it will have chewed thi...
