Because yesterday we were one of those frustratingly simple paintings,
(maybe a blue one with a dark streak in its center);
the Pragmatic find it laughable and "an insult to art,"
the Artsy tear it apart until it has a meaning, and
you and I, the Artists, want it to represent everything we are and will ever be.

Because tomorrow we'll be an umbrella in a trashcan,
(maybe a dotted one with the complexion of a dead, twisted spider);
the Realistic will attribute it to the strong wind and showers,
the Fledglings will nod at it like a tombstone in a cemetery, and
you and I, the Hurricane, will regard it as a mistake, a blunder, a bump on our mutual journey apart.