art music poetry #83

a rare one in one color.

Fourteen Ninety Two

She wants three times more than she gets, but does
not know how to get it. They laugh when he tells
of performance art beyond the capacity for most to
understand. She glitters her face in accordance to
artistic norms. He comes in sneakers carrying twenty
new paintings rolled up, a heavy load strapped underneath
nap sack, twisting lumbars out of place. Broken toes, at
least a sprained knee and a crushed ego do not slow him
down in his quest to make a great art show. She uses him
like a pawn in a death-match with her best friend. He was
called to rescue her from beer, but when he stayed a friend
long enough to witness the war, he was his own sword
slicing away by trying to stay friends with both. They love
to point out how great it all could have been if he had stuck to
the plan, been more plyable, more relaxed, more able to pick
one, drop the other. But he doesn’t drop friends just because
they treat each other miserably. He laughs at the next comparison,
that Yoko Ono is the “Picasso of Japan,” is she even the Yoko Ono
of performance art? We get to sit and talk about what happens
continents away. “What if Europeans never discovered America?”