Both art & texts
do not fit one genre.

Despite the presence
of a certain resemblance,
ideas & their artistic interpretation
are an unlikely match
to a generic mould.

Are those who name me
what makes me me?

Does my name
define me

or
does my presentation
defy explanation?

My reflection
            to me
is no representation
            of what you see:

Performance out of context
either goes unnoticed,
gets tokenized,
or falls flat
like a pancake
nestling between the cracks
of the pavement
by impatient feet of goal-oriented people.

Perhaps we should stand still:

reconsider a crack for a brook,
reconstruct a structure to dream up a nook, or
recognise a boundary for the beginning it is,
or could be.