Art is... modified

It has no solid definition to the masses
Not here
Not in Canada.
Here it's,
That Dirty Little Secret.

"Don't laugh! My real dream is to write a book.
I want to write."

It's that tooth that you put under your pillow and hope for money to appear in return.
It is uncomfortable.
It's growth.
It's what's crafted in between thoughts
and shared with the world.
Or kept to yourself.
It is ever-changing, malleable.

It's not porn.
It's burlesque.
Perhaps it's the line that runs from the height of a woman;s cheek bone ti the curve of her breast, the slim of her waist, and ends with that poor baby toe. Perhaps.