The Victor Frankstien

Charcoal art with phoenix ash sculpt with medusa eyes My art runs kicking My art beats alive Pluck loose quills up out my heart and engraft my skin with metaphors, Mold my debris upon cemented floors, Into living imagery, vividly un-simmered! Un-timidly bewildering things livid, you got to live it, It is art entranced in dis-seamed meaning -no strands Like unstrung puppets klopse marched or zulu danced -no hands God singing through the Sistine chapel ceiling Art is alive I heard art weeping on walls -Mona Lisa cries You see you may have tried, but you can never kill art, Art never dies for art takes the dab on the jaw and is immortalized Hung merrily smiles swinging on nooses like Tarzan on great vines un-buried alive excavated, repeated and perpetually illustrated from your basement to the frames and the walls of exhibition stages ink off the pen on the pages to the corners of a pavement that were once vacant and inescapable escape vent for things felt unseen and ignored from heartbreak to beauty and awe Art kicks out the coffin door and kisses you on the forehead throwing dirt and roses at your face sheds a tear recites creeds & eulogies for ceremonies then shape shifts and trades place for art will never be dead Art defies both time and space And you don't know art Art is not a concept Art is not a chord a text a sketch or a complex You will find "art" within the composition of a heart literally figuratively grammatically reality you may try to see art truth is you have to be art you just have to be true art is when you are free to express being the real you art is alive art art is a life