Jeff Connelly Poet I do not know?

She Is the Arts

today at two
thirty two pm
eastern standard
time i decided to give

up writing
poetry and take
to scraping paint on
a canvas or at least a board

stepping off of
her pillar she 
offered her
self to

take a pose and
model those frozen hours 
for a still life on canvase that 
ran out lastly as i collapsed on to these

those that
she danced 
with ballerina 
ease taking me 

to piano keys to 
unlock what mystery
the metronome clock would
tick in adagio talk time and i

realized i hadn't
found how to express
her and so spun a wheel and
filled it with a mound of clay minus

her not having a rib 
bone she turned
on her own 
letting my

fingers fill in form but
deformed and not 
what i was trying
to form from

the dirt of 
earth for her
birth was complicated
making her mad and made 

her jump into a cast 
iron frying pan where
though i a chef served 
her well as a delicacy that 

all would agree but she
not tasty enough so
she punched me 
and then we

went to the martial
arts and then to
any and every
art form there

was and she
was with me
juggling and
clowning

around for
without
finding
her it

was
her
that i
found

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