Ours, is a Detroit career,
Pounding Picasso’s Blessings.
joy leads to cubist
grapes, apples and oranges
a fantastic dream.
A Huge Fate.
Poems police us,
like a shiny hooker
Walking down eight mile.
Such politics do not concern.
Yet, my poetry pimps me
out to the highest bidder.
Ours is a Detroit Career
Pounding picasso’s blessings
a pathway to joy
is a walk through the D.I.A.
words haunt me.
the ghost of tomorrow
has never crossed paths
with my ghost of yesterday.
Making a living, out of pure thin air,
like a magican, removes a curtain
and nothing is there.
Trying to sell creativity,
door to door, is way worse
then vacumn salesman of the past,
how do you sell a artists dream
a vision, a painting, a story or
an idea? How do you make a living off
of poetry? Or painting? Or as a creative arts therapist?
In my town, you cannot, apparently.
No, matter how much noise you make.
No, matter how much you scream and shout.
The struggle is an ancient one.
The tribe of the starving artist.
But, when’ it is all that you have,
when’s thats all you got,
i ask you what then?
Ours is a Detroit Career,
pounding picasso’s blessings
a pathway to the fantastic
cubist dream, as a child reaches out,
for a single red crayon.
And in all truth that is where this
story probably began…