Art
Why photograph a fact when you can catch
A nightmare, be a Jackson Pollock or
A Dalí at his Druid weirdest? Snatch
A depth of fanged subconscious and then pour
Some paint of guts across your canvas. Real
Is boring. Ditch it. Art becomes mirage
And mystic queasiness inside a squeal.
Eschew the common or make a collage
Of it that churns up nausea. The key
Trick is to mix up meaning or to ban
It. Spread some purple fantasy and brie
Across a beach. Jesus on a divan
With hydrogen bomb mushroom clouds would do
Or cover some swallows with Elmer’s Glue.