Lest I forget, Joy

Before charcoal
there was poster paint
oil paints and gasoline
by the bucketful

the love of an artist
in grimy jeans and muscle shirts
he's buying the 6 dollar notebooks
with pretty designs
to store our bank statements in

without ambiguity
we have nothing
let me swirl like a princess
behind the marching orders of
her pots and practicality

I danced for christmas
and modeled starchy old patterns
climbed the knolls of the plains
believing i was conquering the swiss alps

the Great Explorer!
With glittered dresses and bloodied knees
no incongruity there, you laughed
nothing strange about cha.

There can't be anything worse
than the death of a working class artist

Scratching together a family
outta two by fours and leftover bibles
somehow, ressurecting
the truth of nothing.