Make Life an Art Head muddled, heart fatigued. A test of endurance. Sense like vapour. The path should be obvious, but the detour more appealing. The straight road so scary, like blow up Santas in suburbia inflated by air. Domestic conversations pound on the chest, deflate the mind and bind one’s feet. Wanting independence not loneliness, adventure without travelling, intimacy through the front door. A restraining order on circumstance. First prize fondled. Make life an art, coat in gold leaf, light a match and wave away the fumes. Rowena Wiseman   Dancers They danced to the same tune in a…