Thursday, October 28, 2021

Jackson Pollock

It was the border that beautified the madness. 
Vertiginous—down, down
the gaze into the white canvass
where color and imagination 
grew wings.
Each errant stroke a stroke of luck, 
the errancy deliberate.
Lines crossed, never questioned, all pain
with purpose to construct. 
Questions, bounteous, answered
by a single nervous impulse. 
A cigarette, a silence, a madness sparks the speed—
to counter complete implosion: explosion, 
a declaration of need.

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