EE.UU by Izel Vargas, KNOCK #9

Good art isn't any accident, Stanley
I presume
It sips at a cheap Merlot at one
in the morning
when the mixed media traipse
across the room
make advances on the oils
touch privates priced
with the lack of Discovery

"What do you think you're doing, Dave?"

What's made precise, clean
pasteurized and mixed with
Heineken and antidepressants
still leaves felt-penned notes
saying to use the other door, Please!
opens to interpretations
of car-filled bass and
wool caps pulled tight
against another night huddled
in doorways

"Just what do you think you're doing, Dave?"

We should bring in our own
lawn chairs, we should
pass the brushstrokes hued
in summer barbecues to cook
the colors until they crinkle and spit
protest in their digitized voices
The gallery echoes of the space
between Friday nights burning pop corn
and Saturday morning, when the smell crescendos
with "Thus spake Zarathustra"
and our artistic sense is reborn

I"'m afraid, I'm afraid, Dave...."

The chalice falls to the grime-encrusted
sidewalk, Stanley
All hands reach out
to feel the shattered glass
The toasts breed reels of your
psychedelic edits to wrap 'round
late teenage girls, who circle the building
polishing rap with their suv's, painting
angst, that's coughed up

2-- 2001: A Kubrick Night at the Accident Gallery Glenn Reed

in cul de sacs, hidden tattoos, and boyfriends
lost forever inside ill-fitting pants

"I'm afraid, Stanley, My mind is going..."

I cringe as the mc snores, emitting
pen and inked figures on these
shadow gamed walls,
and I still shiver, stanley,
as the bone flips upward to the heavens
four million years pass
but then a cell phone rings out bars
of beethoven
as your remains sink downward
from orbit

"My mind is going, there is no question about it...."

This room needs attention, Stanley
Shall we sing it a song?

See there, a lone child sleeps
on a pallet of bandstand
Maybe he dreams of Strauss waltzes
dancing across tortured landscapes
Maybe he dreams of a song
beyond his touch
Maybe that song is "Daisy"

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Glenn Reed presently resides with towering redwoods and herds of elk in Eureka, CA, where he is employed in a service/advocacy organization for people with disabilities. His work is inspired by people he has met, beautiful places he's lived (including Washington and Vermont), and the insanity of our political system. He's currently trying to focus more on writing fiction and revising those stories that got stuck in a closet (or on a floppy disk) for too many years.

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