Friday, 24 April 2009

Day 24

They told me there were clouds
gathering in my pelvis,
a darkening in the bone;

When they found it, I remember thinking
how pretty it looked-
like a wine stain spreading across a tablecloth

like a work of art hiding in the wrong place,
or a final bar of music ringing out through my tendons.


but later, when everything else had dropped away,
I remember thinking about what some lecturer
had said to me once: art is never about art

art is about life.

And I remember realising
how stupid he really was.

1 comment:

  1. Art's about both, all of the time. Raw obvs.

    Good poem. Did like. Would read again.

    ReplyDelete