Beholden Rods, Cones and Blood

#1: The Painter:
A long-shot elaboration on the beg
turning in brushstrokes for dollars
the artist’s gallery is the beggar on the corner
palm up, shaking expectantly
for a drink, for rent
or the grand ka-ching to keep her
waist deep in straw for life

#2: The Comedian:
Standing up, desperate like a dog
getting out the right yelps, woofs and whimpers
to get the laugh scraps that fill the seats
that buys the steak and the blow
onward to sitcom bliss

#3: The Sculptor:
Like a convict breaking rock
for the big break, chiseling away demons
that won’t take total flight
until they sit there
all abstract and shit
in a famous multi-millionaires parlor

#4: The Dancer:
Locomotion: predator and prey
pure animal action
jump, stomp and twirl into the halls
of elitist success – spin, spin, spin
pirouette and shake those tits for tat

#5: The Writer:
Fingers on hopeful keys
each marked by symbolic portent
in search of domesticated order
twitching lonely like a pollywog at the end of a fork

#6: The Priest:
If art is the search of greater truths
then there is none greater than
the selling of carrot and stick cons
to the mulched and murdered masses
stroking, wagging and tickling for a child’s hard love


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