Time machines

Water fills my ear,
Plumbing fills my layer.
A Morlock I am here,
Buried earthenware.

My figure fills the ground.
I make art underground.
Both flat and in the round,
Where time machines abound.

inspired in part by “The Time Machine” by H.G. Wells

Magic markers

Distinction was the aim,
With no two marks the same.
“Marks that had no name”, I said,
“There upon your paper tread.”

“No marks may over steer.
Patterns may appear,
But every mark should stand alone.
Symbolize no rag or bone.”

At first they would comply,
But then appeared a heart, an eye,
A skull, a rose, despite my cry.

Marks they’d stack and merge
Despite my steady urge
To limit their design,
Lines they’d intertwine.

“Breaking rules”, they’d chime,
“The way art is refined!
Progress it is defined
When rules are so declined.”

“If what you say is true,
Then rules still rule your way,
Dictating all you do,
Your marks, and all your way.

As well, if art’s progression,
Requires renewed transgressions,
Then all art comes undone,
As you before you have begun.”