I Do Not Care What the Artist Meant
In a backward upside down, real way
The artist shook me out of my humdrum tree
I rolled over and over with a blob in my head
wondering why my soul was dancing
She understood before I ever did
I live for art, music and poetry that tosses me into the sea
allowing me the luxury of wondering
whether I will be devoured by sharks
and if I am, will they begin with my feet?
I prefer they start with my head
But only if they can fit the whole thing inside their pie holes.
I look at this canvas of oranges, turquoise and greens,
and do not care about what the artist meant
All I know is that it makes me want to dance, twirl and sing.
That is more than enough for me.
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