I saw a young photo of
struggling Pablo.
I wouldnt’ve kicked him out of bed.
If he’d painted the street
performer in rose, would it still emphasize
the lines of his tendons? His canvas
guitar and sackpaper legs?
Since we're both of the Twentieth
century and feel no
loyalty to images appearance,
reducing bodies, words to triangles
and shattered space; I see no reason
why we need reasons
to create. Lying stacked supine
Emaciated
The beautiful nudes are all dead
And we are spent.
