real art is dipping myself in paint and throwing myself against the pavement
wow look at that stain
paint
    paint
        paint
all the feelings away
until you darken the page and there’s nothing left to say.

Ocean wanders in to contemplate me

drafts a verse about my ankles in

twisting foam, scrambles the lines

and forgets. A mirror in the slick

afterthought of water on sand

where my feet sink in soft parchment

The ink darkens, leeching my energy as I trace an index over the text. A rejection letter from California Institute of the Arts, and best regards. No better than every other art academy who also shelved my portfolio.

The letter lands neatly in the bin. I stalk to my studio.

I will count them all

shards of glass in the mirror

every part of me adds

up to nothing

I’m standing in front of violets

in front of a Renaissance painting

and wondering what do I have

There are people in this room

that don’t deserve to be here.

It looked a bit like Lila, but it wasn’t Lila. I don’t know why people say that when someone dies they look like they’re sleeping. Her skin was dull grey and colder than ice. Her long body lay limp and heavy on the stainless steel table. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled.

Who dreams?

Who dares to enter such a realm?

Visions, fleeting,

Escaping with the waking flutter,

Living on bated breath

And translucent promises of

A world all your own;

A world anew.

Laughter chirps through my ears

A forever perfect

Harmony

In this imperfect world

Sunshine frames the chalk lines

Every colorful streak

A reflection of my friends

A reflection of myself

It’s hard to find who I am.

I know this could take long.

What sets me and others apart?

Where do I choose to stand?

I want answers to appear like the bang of a gong.

Reaching down into my heart,

or searching up above.