dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: art


Word water balloons

At an art gallery,

You force passions

To mix and wrestle

Their liquid wills.

Your bullets burst,

Stain, and slide down

Glorified fruit,

Landscapes, and skin.

They are

Your tears

As you fend

For yourself.

We love
to be reminded
of the enemies we’ve killed
so walls are filled
with trophies
and crudely scratched out
that certify each victory,
we frame what we call art.

mostly still confined,
is scented, colored,
and circled with glass,
mischievous children
and their parents
snuff out wicks with fingertips
or blow away numbered flames
on birthdays.

is where
we’re comfortable,
hunched over and grunting,
we make our way
each night
to the same hole
to neither see
nor think.

Scribbles form flowers
Easily enough.
Trees and birds come alive
With watercolor stuff.

Stray pen marks  
Turn to effortless sunshine.
Just a few fingerprints
Make a picture mine.

Seated in a circle,
My classmates all knew
Art was what
We were meant to do.

Being an artist was easy,
But we were talented, of course,
Until the teacher told us
To each draw a horse.

Negative space,

The nothing place

In a work of art.

It’s the invisible net

Somewhere in the sky

That catches balloons.

Slide your sweaty pencil in between

The squishy curves in the brain.

Some people paint by mouth or foot,

No fingers required,

So steady your thoughts and

Slide the seismograph needle

Sprouting from your head

Over the bright white

Empty receipt to record

The disturbing distance

Between where you are

And where you thought you’d be.