Andi Balise combined a half page of a short story, “Thanks Going Without Saying” by Liz Balise, with half a page of an essay by Klee, “On Modern Art”, from a book called Modern Artists on Art, 10 Unabridged Essays, edited by Robert L. Herbert. With some small edits and line-breaks comes this miracle of a poem:

Painting a Function Different

I peek out over the railing of reality’s magic
Beyond the porch-floor
Minerva hangs her wash
making the invisible visible
Eighty two and three quarters deaf
she doesn’t notice  
But this is, in fact, reality
Has always been this way—
Bent and bird-like existence  
Balanced on two twigs—always busy—

Her task, is the ******* of space  
Cutting coupons, crushing aluminum cans, ironing
The three phenomena which I must....

Things no one notices—
climbing on the abstract surface of a picture
Switching the curtains  
God! I wish from the infinity of space..she wouldn’t…!

It figures that—
Rusty, her cat, is weaving in fortune or misfortune  
I try to fix them—
Her ankles now
And she curses at accidental quality
from the corner of her mouth
which has only one form
Clothespin or cigarette?  
Long johns and animals and men in heaven
and bureau scarf and sheets—all, non-infinite deities
surround us translucent, contained
  
I decide what to get for her birthday—

We are good friends
through painting a function different

For me?
Predestined necessity.

Minerva?
forgets her manners
and eats like a survivor—

Thanks going without saying.

over all the voices
screaming
at me to get it together
there's yours
telling me to stop
and gently
coxing me into serenity
to take my time
and not feel rushed
but yours
is only one voice
over all the others
and they're screaming

If those who suicide are selfish,
Can't you also say that for the living?

Don't think about her,
They say.
Don't think about a pink elephant.



Yeah... you get the idea.

But it's worse if you've seen the pink elephant.
Such a thing does not leave your heart easy.

Sure, you could think of a blue elephant.
But I,
I would feel guilty.

I'm almost home
to the drinking
to the sad music
to the missing
&
The crying
To the praying
&
To the sadness
It's all I ever known
So I call it home.