Yes! That's it!
I'll sell my ****!
Packed up in tin!
I'll be a hit!

For all the art
My mind creates
Amounts to ****
My reason hates

But if you'd like
To feel confused
Then take a look
Or just peruse!

...just simply crazy:  me.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMIV)


Be modern art.  Don't merely wear a sense
Of twisted souls in anguish, that detail
Seen only on the runway to avail
Is't buyers of the tortured folk which thence
Are writhing whilst they trot amongst us? whence
Designers new upon the scene cull frail
Half notions of it in their wildness' scale
Of "clothing," music pumping out that hence.
Thus Yamamoto's girls looked pained in tour;
Ike Seungik Lee's um, clowns which played all through
Their catwalk, to effect.  Chanel as twere
Conserv'tive was't?  I can't see how but to
Be stylish is pure madness, though tis poor
To call it that.  Just laugh at me, won't you?

10Mar18c

Body

This is not a poem
This is a painting
This is called modern art.

You pick me up right on time

"this is for you"

i sip

it’s cold and sweet

just perfect.

before i left, i slipped a salt water painting under your helmet.

framed in red light as we move towards the corner it grows larger while you grow smaller and i hope i can remember the image of you smiling while the projection reflected off your glasses with your hair too long in the back and your jeans always several sizes too big and your black t shirt. your underwear was my favorite color that day.

what if i can’t stop thinking about that day

when you took me to the feminist modern art exhibit at your favorite museum across town

holy ****

and kissed me in the starlight room

and i thought, ******* you are good.