Innovation is Puzzle

I've got nothing for what it means.
I've got spaces to always keep my face clean
I've got clothes to keep my head numb
They're buying me shoes to try on in Vegas


I can't be a trick fixture
But in these dreams their notes are skewed
And ripped of beauty; they're creaking blue.
Thinning out now the voices are chants
To a gallery of art and its grim,
To all them seems so intent.


I've got no idea what I'm up against
I've got spaces with no found evidence
I've got choices to keep from making
They're buying me words to try on in paintings.


I can't be a soft transfer
But in these dreams their notes are skewed
The words are white; cut out from black
Thinning out now the voices are chants
To a gallery of art and its grim,
To all them seems so intent.


When's the next line to arrive?
How should I sit and try?
What will it be to cry?
Why will the well run dry?


I've got suspicions
I've got spaces
I've got chatter
They've got my paper.