I
oh frustrated, artist
you have inhaled
too many turpentines
you run
from door
to door
begging for white paint,
& haven't any money
but, for gin
II
she has lost color
in her cheeks
you cannot reproduce
so you slap her
but, it's your heart that bleeds
on your cheap garrett floor
then you die the master
of one last & vital ivy leaf
your hand's own yellowed ivy leaf
on a crumbling garden wall.
-ateto mort
10/28/04
*i will be happy to hear any suggestions about content, form, anything. trying to stretch myself a little here. i know suse, for one, can help me out.
thanks in advance for your help.
crow