Sunday, May 4, 2014

Art About Art

Art about art almost always
amounts to esthetical fart –
pretending the artist
is not just descending again
and again into orifices

where the moon don’t shine
and the view ain’t sublime.
But a creature of mine just
barged in to be art-about-art,
whatever the crime:

he’s crept surreptitiously
onto scratch paper, so drawn
by its splotch and its line
and its strange new purview,
he’s insisted that I now permit

him to snatch in its frame
his eight minutes of fame.
As usual, I will put up with my
shame, be a slave to this game,
and a creature’s to blame.


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