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Description
Nothing to promise, no recognized coin
All I have to offer is
Tears to fuel my fountain pen, to
Eat more acid words into the page- I would
Give up this for you.
Light a candle and pay homage
To the
Pen-armed voodoo gods with eyes made of mother tongues
And draw a sigil in ink, trading
My concrete-stained muse
For a voiceless life of morphine contentment,
Which is to say,
The rifts made when the words were rent from me
Would be numbed with sugar.
In exchange for art,
Safety.
What kind of Madison Avenue trade is that?
I will be as literal as a child,
Put a price tag on my Art,
Suspension of belief, or best offer,
And haggle like a Paris housewife
For the best I can get.
Capitalist yearnings for other people's contentment,
The kind of trade you'd
Expect in a Chinese fairytale,
The kind of trade you'd
Expect me to scoff at, which is true,
And I will
Smile derisively
Even as I make it.