Art at the center

Art at the center 
touches when it touches
obliquely—astonishing colors,
vibrant detail— no, not empathy,
timelessness, authority, it speaks
for itself as a geometric purity,
within coarse treacherous steps  

Life’s essential cruelty,
your absence
your sadness is like
the insect part of me
that keeps on going—
enthroned mediocrity,
cheapened taste, vulgarity,

popularity, that ultimate proposition,
what you’ve been wishing,
the immortality hidden in our codes
Our flowers are sexual creatures,
their stamens and pistils
repeat just the half so we
needn’t reveal the rest

We lived the link between us
as happiness— competition fierce,
opportunities finite—
I sought for a woman who’d
save me, and I thought
some woman will save me
“That’s what she always says”

You were a wave left in shadow
We change our codes through
error or damage and in a halo
around these galaxies our energy
dissipates in a blur of clouded
moons, molecular treads, “I know a
temper tantrum when I see one”

she said, and “I don’t have to do
that again, I answer to no one”
I didn’t suppose you were
so vicious, bitter, or hardened
An intensity of close looking—
mass is inert and energy
changes everything

-January 26, 2019-