Aesthetic Miasma

Aesthetic Miasma


I paint a wild song and
my canvas screams at
your instruments
Electric signs blaze and flicker
-in and out-
to absurd rhythms of
drunken urban jazz
Outside this dirty window the
concrete sculpts
jealous feet -
smokes and dazzles
in raw midnight stupor
There's a smear on
reality
while surrealism lives
unbroken
There's a miasma in
someone's mind
they call aesthetic
Creating and performing a
glorious mess
eating fashion
drinking dust
suffering on water-colored
music
You have a muse, you imagine
who shimmers and chokes
and is your balance
You compose a harmony called
waste and grace
and chisel your own heart with
my pen
And I flail for the surface
of your ocean of hypnotic
melodies
Rivers run dry
and the naked go
truly nude
The sky is red, soft,
deep,
mad...
would that only we had
more art, time,
sense, and
passion