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?