THE PAINTER WITH
Can you take me down a peg,
or will you; or a notch. Just something
to let me know my head is too big
for my shirt, or, oh, you know the rest.
I'm sick of all this living, all this
dilletantish stuff, those people
twirling their spaghetti thinking
they're Luigis with linguinis.
With the pizza napkin tied around
their neck, with the maps of Italy
in vivid color. Barf. 'I can't even
sit down because I keep landing
on my manhood' - that's the way
these big doofs talk. Take me home,
country roads, to the place where I
belong. Oh no, please. I liked Rose
Madder better as a color than a girl.
It always bothered me that I was even
born - go figure that. What kind of
individual sensitivity would make
someone feel like that? There's no
alternative; it's absolute thinking and
leaves no room to squirm. Cadmium
Barium Yellow, Medium : can you
even believe that's a color? Go ahead,
go into Utrecht at 237 W23rd, you'll
see what I mean. Art supplies and
rows of color. Oils with the weirdest
names. If someone dreamed up colors
I guess something could dream up me.
I find life too strange. Still wish I was
never born. Still wish I never saw a
windmill. Still wish I never met you :
darling doily dolly case, heart-stream
Long Island, Mezoaic Americaic,
angel food cake and me and you.
Signed....the painter with green eyes.