An Artist

An Artist

Cat sh-t on the floor and rubbish,

Chapbooks in a sack,

Cezanne and Renoir on the walls,

Artistic, rundown shack.

Artist! That's what people say

When he tries to sing.

He cannot paint, compose or write.

He can't do anything.

But he's an artist. People pay

A grand to hear him – what?

He hauls in many times as much

As a loveless slut.

11-3-13

Wit

Whence my funny comments

Like the phrases in my poems?

Have I become an egotist?
But I can make him laugh.

A laughter that's like heaven,

And I'm sure it's happiness.

But now my wit has gone away.

I didn't have it long.

A portrait etched in misery.

Everybody's game.

11-3-13