I don't get this;
I've drawn a few buttocks, vaginas and breasts,
And never will be seen at the art gallery.
This figures to be like poetry,
Why is some poetry better than others,
Better than mine?
I've drawn characters like Keith Haring,
Not on paddleball concrete walls,
Nor on brick facades.
What is artistry if it's not understood as the expression of an individual?
Does art possess veracity when a name is established, and not as mine, avoided?
I don't get art and its interpretation by others.
Should I mass produced it to convince myself and others that what I do is art?
Get a typewriter when electricity runs out,
Get an infusion when the muses strikes inspiration.