Muscle Poems

My mother owns an art gallery full of abstract paintings. It’s stunning but I still don’t know why.

This art gallery that my mom owns is why I’m bored, and why she gave me work to do. I method act total laziness. The creative process was already all around my childhood house. You should see how much I still try to keep my own nose clean.

 

We’re having wine and cheese again. My macaroni painting didn’t sell. Not enough cheese? I wanted to wrap my mom in a canvas like a pig in a blanket. Can you be an artist if you’re not starving? “Ah, Firpo is on the wall! It’s one of his early doodles, and it even has a coffee stain!” “How much!?” I felt heavily bloated, but my mother looked amazing! Walter Firpo was an artist and an intellectual and had a sense of humor.

 

One of my old therapists would show us Rorschachs that would lull us into the subconscious. I realized you have to be trained for that. Overheard at my mom’s gallery during the show: “Will this painting melt in Florida?” I really wanted to help and say, “It will, at 4:20 on a rainy day, sweetheart.”

 

My mom owns a gallery of abstract paintings, by the way.

 

When punching a wall, the wall always wins. Aluminum tastes like fear. Boogers are nude.