CONCEPTUAL PATERISM

We must paint a portrait where the eyes never look at us,
Where the eyes look at nothing but the oil and the canvas,
We won’t see imitations of anger or lust,
But we will see the dust and the age and irrelevance.

Your marble slabs – only fading epitaphs
In this land of deformed unreality
So sit with me on the spiral jetty and get smothered in the redness
The skies will fold against paper waves to make a mist of words for harvest
Some are missed by our perceptions and get tangled in the clouds,
And others fall off the horizon and are very rarely found,

There is no picture that they can paint
No frame magnificent enough to cage it
Blank walls become trapped behind red wallpaper
And the patterns stare at a lonesome man on a wide street
Where the buildings are like
Teeth stacked on teeth

See the art in the lonely man in the secluded jaw
You’ll see what’s in-between the teeth
Then put your half drunk coffee in the quiet gallery - And
Don’t feel angry that it’s art