A Letter to Basquiat
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Images juxtapose.
Image is just a pose
for those who wish to see it
Impoverished young artist,
paint spattered suit.
Undercover bum,
cardboard boxed in
Central Park.
Using the spoon in your mouth
to cook up with.
Working in abasement,
listening to Bird
and mimicking
his wings
with paint.
Turning turmoil into treasure troves
and dissonance to clarity.
Giving eyes to grotesque human forms,
so that they may see themselves
for what they really are:
Ridiculous, powerful creatures
carved from the city landscape,
all screaming out one word.
If a something’s said too many times
it will not sound the same.
Now they wear your crown
on baseball caps
and do not know
your name.
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