art
must stink of ourselves
stink of a week in a tent
with
spilled booze fermenting and burst dreaming
crumbs and roaches and visitors
and
cheap dealing
and the looming big moon and the low yellow ill moon
and
all the thick rain
that
ruined everything and hid the stars
art
must be an unshaved wart
a beer fight
a reckless dangerous running night
caught in amber
in the
sickness and weakness and unapologetic guilt
of
the bedridden and whining next day
art
must
be simple and readable by all
the
cutlery monkeys
eating
kfc
No comments:
Post a Comment