Who gives a shit what I think
Who knows what wild brushstroke
Will please the eye of the gallery?
Is there finally a difference between
Paint spilled on the floor and moving, meaningful
Do we think all our babble is fit for print?
If we are real poets, we do.
Can we sign an empty canvas and
Sell it on the power of our names?
Homer didn’t build his reputation
By spitting pebbles. But cenuries later
We tell the story. It’s the justice of the
Marketplace. Resonance and legend.
Sing to the sea. Bury your verse in drawers.
Resonance and legend. Sing your stanzas.
My feeble criticisms will fall off your
Shoulder like a petal. I change opinions
Like you change sunglasses. One day rose
One day steel blue like a cycle cop.
I don’t turn my opinions up any higher
Than the thermostat on my disposition.
The value of a word? The value of a verse?
The value of a note or a color on hemp cloth?
Art comes before criticism.
The act before the compaint
The source before the elaboration.
If your feelings depend on my applause
Then dali couldn’t have painted a stroke
Without da vinci’s good humor.
My words mean nothing
Who knows what wild brushstroke?