If life is art today is a work by Salvador Dali               deconstructed         fragmented                        independent          sparse     calm       melting                       roomy                  brave                 and                           pieced    together helplessly, brilliantly, randomly.

Today is holding itself together, pink and black and hurting.

If life is art I am food. Manipulated, folded, dusted, brushed, beaten, whipped, fondled and put out on display. If I am food I am fresh then rotting then rotting then fresh. I am frozen and thawed or laid out to dry. Too hot to handle and left, forgotten, to rest. If life is art I am food revived, ravaged, digested. I am appetizing and colorful.

If life is art then last night’s dreams were movies that jumpstarted me to wake, frightened in the night beside him. Shaking him awake, pointing at the robes hanging black on the bedroom door, “Look! Look! It looks like a man! The devil!” I whisper-shout, scared and kid-like. To my comfort, he agrees (the robes look like the devil) and knee walks to the end of the bed and shuts the door for me. “Hold me,” I whimper, never more myself than in the night. And he holds me. Tight. Tighter than anyone ever has. If life is art my lover is a geisha. Masked and beautiful, teasing, obedient, and entertaining in the old ancient way.

If life is art then last night’s dream-fantasies were a collection of the greatest. But fantasy does not hold up well in reality and I roused awake, ripping off my nitetime pants and I tried to wake him again, murmuring nonsense and coaxing and humming with my hands. Thinking thinking thinking about hard man arms long man legs wide man fingers tender man hair wild man hair and beard my body his body soft lyrics and bells pleasant but vibrant like angel sounds. These are the thoughts and feelings of that stage between sleeping and wake….does anyone else sense that they are in heaven?

In the dream there was more than enough, in the bed there is less, not enough. But in the bed there is truth, and it is here that we both get closer to heaven then anywhere else on earth. Both of us, in-between worlds, together. We are so kind there……I come to wake and whisper-beg with my body. He laughs amusingly, innocently, at my desire and like a man I jump out of bed and spout something I can’t remember now but included the words sex, frustrated, and Not Funny. If life is art then I stomp to the kitchen, sleepy, dramatic, and deserving of a stage. For a show which nobody would ever enjoy to watch.

If life is art then there is work left unfinished. I drag it around with me today, during the morning commute, on my way for coffee, clocking in and out at work, like a project I cannot wait to touch up and complete. I cannot do it alone and in the wake of this interruption I growl with my eyes and smile with my teeth at the many of those who cannot help me. I aspire to go home and release myself.

If life is art I am black today, red on the inside. Human with a capital H today. So I go outside of and above my body. I see a few pieces of the puzzle that are fitting just right. But I remember how the earth it always moves, our bodies grow and shrink, and the pieces that once fit here might later there and so on. So I don’t lay my puzzle pieces in concrete, but in dry sand, allowing for the natural shift in things, for the pieces to fall where they may and move and they please, or as I see fit.

If life is art then nobody’s getting paid what they should. But we’re all doing it for the right reasons.

If life is art then everything is messy, all the time, and aint that right.

If life is art then I was right to blast live rock n roll first thing this morning, before I even turned on the coffee.

If life is art then I hope he’s armed with the hardware to ground me today. I am all watercolors and old acrylic paint tubes, hardened and plugged up, holding back, else on the page. If life is art I need a frame and nails to keep me down today, to keep me sane.

If life is art I am free.

If life is art then I am living.

If life is art then I am a mess or a masterpiece, depending on the angle.

If life is art then what is standing in front of the space heater crying.

If I am art then I am waiting for the audience to burst into applause.

If life is art then I applaud YOU you crazy, talented, sonnofabitch.

If life is art then I am distracted by all the colors and modern flashing things.

If life is art today is a work by Salvador Dali               deconstructed         fragmented                        independent          sparse       calm           melting                       roomy                  brave                 and                           pieced together helplessly                    brilliantly                            randomly.