Framed

It doesn’t make you happy, being Art.
First there’s all the messy paint
you have to wear to play the part.
Heavy symbolisms taint

your life with questionable beauty.
Figuring yet new ways to be framed
becomes an existential duty.
"What new name should I be named

to capture my enigma?" – that’s a drag.
Then you have to conjure shapes –
be cows, a flute, brown paper bag,
a game of bocce, bunch of grapes.

Worse, you have to make it naked.
If I were you, I’d fake it.

.