Artificial Sweetener
He mixes his colors and creates
These carelessly calculated brushstrokes
Of a demented artist living joy
And disappointment vicariously through his creation
Bored impetuous sketches on stretched white canvas
Waiting to be filled with the colors
Of good ideas and bad decisions
Will he next mix pale greens or blacker blues?
Red in hair and cheeks and lips
The air a softer shade mixing with the blue
Of the instant, making Hendrix’s purple haze
Or something like it.
Is white now color? Is black now white?
No. It’s all gray now; there’s no distinction
He sets the brush down and leaves it there
His canvas now finished....
Damn him.
(2004)
Also found this one in an old notebook and no clue what/who it's about or why it's got that title. I should start making notes to myself when I write.
