A SMALL THING BUT MY OWN

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(after a painting by Howard Hodgkin)

little arbitrary numbskull

the hand moves slowly into the public realm

We're sightless
from the mouth down

yellow where the label says yellow

art allows fresh captivity narratives

(the mad run through the mall
dashing paint onto unwilling shoppers)

but you and I

here's the slaughtering floor on a Sunday

birds free in the rafters

you smell like such metal

a rosary draped over your belly

the buzzard has a featherless head for a reason

our own Walk of Fame

where the hands go in front of the knees

Beginning before we are named that's what we do

but that's not why I'm running for Mayor

(looking for the perfect suicide note)

it's an artless apprenticeship for sure

too many beds at the registrar's

the laughter
the citronella

the deer out of nowhere watching through trees . . .

It's raining, I cried

paint flying everywhere

all over the frame . . .

not a grave but a series of waves rushing by overhead

her nipples

a couple of early juncos

two snow birds