a soul and silence
are the same thing
says the girl
who smokes in her sleep
she writes endless words
but can’t quite make poetry
//
the musician lived on a busy sidewalk
playing the harp with his teeth
his gums bled but he didn’t mind
anyhow
he had no money to eat
//
the painter smokes and drinks
not water but beer
slaps on colors and
complains to me
he hasn’t **** solid in years…
(what a joke)
//
i know a dancer who
has no grace
her toenails fall one and two
blood smears the floor like a portrait
in her empty space
//
                                 but you are every kind of artist
                                 no need to try
                                 you could twist galaxies
                                 in a pathetic knot
                                 with just a sigh
                                 //
                                                                                 your fear,
                                                                                 the songs you hear,
                                                                                 the way your lips hum
                                                                                 while you dream,
                                                                                 and when you cry,
                                                                                 how you scream,
                                                                                 the glow of golden
                                                                                 at your feet
                                                                                 as they crack
                                                                                 the sidewalk
                                                                                 and street..
                                                                                 delicate rain
                                                                                 is what you are,
                                                                                 a cup of coffee,
                                                                                 a lit cigar,
                                                                                 the swooping stomach
                                                                                 of life discovered,
                                                                                 the breath in lungs
                                                                                 of love uncovered.
                                                                                 //
the only good artist
you won’t ever leave