Crayons

after a frown
then
discovering,
art isn't always ART
you badger me into believing
a naked lady,
lying still
as a fly buzzed and landed on her skin
was
A
R
T

bullshit talkers
and those
New Yorkers
with their pedestrian scribbles

I won't be yielding to this madness!

Truth was never subjective,
but all those colors
and fancy rooms
modern shapes
coerce and damage
the well-intended
to believe in something obtuse
A
R
T

bullshit words
descriptors of monochromatic hearts and minds
what does that mean,
behind a painting of chance?

don't feed me lines
subjugated by addicts and fiends
anyone can color outside the lines
my awe waits for something they could never do
A
R
T