Why Art?

Art is mumbling again-
Sometimes in whispers
But not usually

Why Art?
Art demands paints and guitar strings
over new shoes

It gobbles up hours instead of food

It stipulates snatches of poems be
scratched on scrap paper and
scotch taped to fridges;
Or saved in drawers
like jewels

Art hums
songs into the night
relentlessly stopping sleep-

Sets wispy shadows in motion
on gossamer canvas
behind tired eyes

And these words
these words, words, words
tumbling onto pages
Planting themselves row upon row
Chancing a garden---

Some gardens turn dark
You trip-
Lose your way

It drives some
to booze or morphine or heroin
to numb it

or fuel it

or murder it
before cutting off an ear
To send to a lover
in a scented envelope

A last resort -
deny Art exists;
Bar the door--- refuse to let it in
In vain

It hides happily under skin

But in moments
There are those sounds

Like tinkling silver teardrops from Brahma’s eye
a gift
I stretch quickly to catch
still perfect
Before they splash on
lotus petals

Oh

These words
words, words, words
tumbling onto pages
Planting themselves row upon row
Chancing a garden