Who says you have to go alone?
The route to art is fraught with friends.
They walk, have walked, will always walk
Towards the songs that beckon them.

You fail, at times, to find their paths
Because you look for crumbs of bread.
As if they want you saving them.
The crumbs have long been pigeoned off.

They seek the kernels of the Truth.
So, look instead for peanut shells.
And learn to turn them in your hand
To get a clue of whence they came.

Forget the final form of art.
Immaculate deceives the mind.
The David fails to tell you what
Was not-so-David at the time.