How We Make Art
I spent the morning painting
cardboard trees. Jagged spears
that did not lay well
under the mouth of scissors.
I mangled the beer box
until there was only a forest of rockets
and bombs displaying alcohol
labels under thin films of acrylic.
The horizon is sharp and angled
now. I’ve planted corrugated pine in the living room.
At sunset they look like search light cones,
mini drag beams from an army of UFO abductions,
tepees made of flayed alien skin, anything
but your eyes
returning to point and say what you see is a formation of lights,
growing dull now that you’ve been
probed and abandoned
in the dark woodlands of memory.about the author