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.