Work of Art

Art is never finished.
Only abandoned.
So are we.

Shutters get nailed shut.
I see you tap the nails into the walls.
We can display
what has taken hours on end.
Hang it up.
Let's say that we are proud
although something is missing.

The years will go by
and I alienate
the glow in this room.
I couldn't stand
to see my memories on the wall.
Will you remember
when I slowly painted on my face?
I felt so uninspired.
Struggling to pose....
trying to create a structural presence.

After years of being left alone
bricks will crumble
and all of the paintings peel.
Remember when you had a smile before  it was done.
Hello hope.
Art is a work of life.
Some of it is spilled and smeared.
We had creative ideas of rare informality.
Study or sing:
I'll remember this without blatant disregard any day.
I only hold value when I am gone.

I will find this
in a cardboard box
down in the basement.

Art is never finished.
Only abandoned.
We walked away
when we saw it was too difficult
to love something imperfect to ourselves.
Bring out a fresh canvas.
Let me draw you
a loving, obeying
picture so I know you look at
my faith hanging
from time to time.
Won't you love what I've done?

Number Sentence

If number were letters,
and I added them up to an equation
that sums up my past and your's equally:
Shall I see a value
in a vagrant richness
that's expensive,
and worth everything I've ever had.
100% heartache
with zero down payment.
Maybe you use cheap words.

I'll reach deep into my pockets
for change to count this out.
You jingle when you walk,
and I can't wait to hear the sound.
Like wind chimes in an Autumn wind.
I barely two cents
to rub together
like lips and a face that had 5 o'clock shadow.
There and gone.
Continuing to be a bit worthless.

I calculate these words.
What's left should be an account
of a broke heart.
A definition of sacred titled texts
and people you call upon late at night.
Zero is a number
celebrants waiver
in my empty wallet of mind.
One is in a heart
without any want
or need
of monetary value
for the other.
I never keep spare,
loose change in my mind.

I hold my coin purse;
a thesaurus,
as he knows this will cost me.
We wait in the sallow cold.
I counted the smiling wrinkles
next to his eye
belonging to a wondering
banker who empties
satirical thought.
I must cost a pretty penny.
May I have a rate again
in a town full of trash and stupidity.
These affections are costing a fortune
not in dollar bills,
but in hands and feet.
I will ask of nothing,
but still look at the value
of the hours I stay awake.
The numbers on the clock.
My thoughts on who has worth.
This sums up a word problem.
You can say "I love you" but what's the percentage interest these days?
I am your figure
paid in paragraphs
in contiguous claim.
One of these days
the mean will be nothing at all.
I hope you think about savings.
It's all but a description
of who's always in your mind.

Legacy Matches and Wasted Time

As I explained all questions
we headed for the basement;
a place of dust and rust
excusable for dirty habits.

Brought out matches
saved from a missed Mother.
He said, "Darling, do you know why we smoke so much?"
We have processed a thought
dragging us down...
tethering my careful woe.
He took out a match.
We inhale a drawl.
The stupid stick unfocused all
heavy internal thought.
When I quake and roll..
stammer and pace...
there's a conscience effort
to turn off reflection.

We always burn with thoughts:
Memories of his Mother
throwing an ashtray,
and myself
wishing I had better news.

Smoke and a shoulder
as I kill myself slowly
with legacy matches and the stupid sticks.
We already have the cancer
of an intellectual mind that would rather
be barreling through our greater work.
These days come and go like the smoke
stinking up the truth.
I'm just procrastinating what needs to be dealt with.

Let this burn for a moment.
There's a certain peace found
in legacy matches and the stupid sticks
when we stop talking
and decide to enjoy each other's company instead.
Silence isn't a waste of time
but addictions to fragments of zen
take time off my life.