Breathing Artist Breath

2004 SLAM

Breathing Artist Breath




I’m constantly painting my insides and out
But not with mascara and rouge,
And I don’t ever redden my lips.

It’s rare that I deck my own body tree
Piling limb upon limb in garlands or tinsel,
And I’ve never dangled balls from my ears.

I haven’t once spent a fortune on togas,
Purchased in dress shops or searched for on-line,
And I’ve no interest whatever in wearing a fur.

But I do take delight in donning dyed words,
Adjusting their texture and color for match,
And curling their frolic around my tall tales.

I paint up a mountain with bouldered dilemmas,
Then assemble my models to stand in repose,
Artistically draped in my mood and my voice.

Thus, like a child, I sit playing with dolls,
Dressing them up with scenes and with purpose,
Breathing my breath in their lungs.

I mold dreams around them and tickle their interest
'Til they dance on my stage and act in my operas,
Flitting about my choreographed pages.

With the greatest of skill, I choose what I like,
Increasing the size or nipping the excess,
With a lift and a tuck, a smooth or a rip.

Thus, I’m constantly painting my insides and out
From the whispers within me and the stray parts of whole,
That beg for a sculpting from my palette of mind.

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