If Art Was Time

If I were to collage next year I’d place bronze across gold and third over first, stick paper upon electric, paste glutton below thirst. If I were to sculpt next year I’d chisel women into boardrooms, chip away white to reveal colour, smooth borders, fences and walls, curve catwalks with something fuller. If I were to paint next year I’d splash rainbows over churches and shade Xs in boxes to stay, I’d smudge pay gaps, titles and labels, etch over surgeries, filters and Black Friday. But if I were to sketch last year, using invisible ink I’d draw a stage, ruined, without watercolour I’d wax a bridge, rammed apart, in fine liner I’d retouch a city’s cycle path, attacked, keeping a vanishing point in sight and restart. So if art was time, and I free to design, I’d graffiti the White House with handprints the paint of all races, I’d stencil love above hate, and erase hurtful mouths from all faces.