They say a picture may paint a thousand words
but I can't read what he wrote
household paint poured onto a horizontal surface
ain't what I call works of note
splashed with no pre-planned end-result
for art's sake to me does not art make
known for his 'drip technique'
yes he was a drip and no mistake
yet a few of his spills sold for millions
long after his prime
as a fool and his money are soon parted
and you can fool some all of the time
but if we pry the boards from his studio floor
and hang them on the wall
why it would be far more relevant
tho' still takes no skill at all
his splotches are not pictures of poppies
nor pansies petunias or hollyhocks
in fact they're really nothing more
than just a load of Pollocks
The ants crawl
neural zapping
stinging bees
of anxiety and discontent.
Thoughts jibber jabber
Polly repeats
monkeys chatter.
Itches must get scratches
and scrawl appears
often blather.
Revisions, relivings,
wallows, exaltation!
The blood follows India ink.
The dexterous digits dance
proposing propositioning , creating.
The ants crawl in lines head to tail.
Often the bee stings and the digits resume.
No horizontal surface finds safety.
The scrawl, the bawl,
the confounding cynical all.
With perpetual redundancy, write on
handcuffed only by unconsciousness.
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