14 December 2006


Art is not safe,
Not safe at all.
If once you turn the key,
It grips your soul like a vice,
Shakes it like a rag-doll,
Putting windows and vaulted ceilings
Where you had only asked for wall paper
And a new coat of paint.

Wear your life jacket
And put up sea walls,
But so much as wet a toe—
It drags you under
Presses out old life
Filling your breath with new air.

Art is vivisection
Examining pulsing organs
Pushing and prodding
Watching your breath die.
I struggle to let it live
But every color I touch
Becomes white
Or brown like oatmeal.

1 comment:

The Girl in the Other Room said...

I like the last two lines.