May 7, 2025
Poetry
How to be an Artist?; the day of equal light
Artwork by Pam Martin
How to be an Artist? I feel trapped by my language, and don’t know what to do, because each and every day, I serve overpriced plates of fried dogshit, I lose my language more and more. I expressed I was tired on Saturday, and on Sunday was demanded I claim my joy. How to do that, ardently so, when each day I feel flattened? How do I do that when the world in which my language is fluent, reinforces my limits, my shortcomings, my lack of dollars? Why is the brittle distinction between connection and contact more expensive than what Sallie Mae said? And why am I still paying her ass? Must I affirm that their bad art is better than my bad art? That cannot be the only option. We live in a world where artists buy colors just to spite other artists. Where the pinkest pink is worth more than any other thing in this bleak, colorless painting, of what I think is supposed to be the world. It’s either use that money for a submission or afford yourself cigarettes and coffee for the week. Fuck you Stuart Semple. I choose the coffee every time. the day of equal light i write this now because you have the right to know I’m changing for good, the way weather past mid April is good. It’s temperate And knows what it is Besides today is The spring equinox There is so much To bud, though I’ve noticed The buds Are budding (!!!) And there is a tree Right between Putnam And Cornelia That looks like its Gonna be a real Show stopper. A big beautiful lookin thing It's across from the laundromat Which is across From the bookstore That i sometimes get Coffee at And sometimes Not. In april I have a gut feeling the Tree is going to be Pink. And by May Probably green. Which it will remain Green Till things get cold Again. But there’s no Use thinking about That since warmth is around The corner And I’m Only telling you about it (this is me telling you About it) Because we met when The weather Was warm And I can attest It was quite nice! While walking home The other night I noticed There were a lot of synchronized Numbers. On buildings And car plates Even tagged onto A garbage can. I cared more about Them when i was younger And the past few months It felt like they Had all gone missing in ridgewood (because I swear Those shits used to be everywhere!!!) But i guess they’re back Which could only Mean good things. When i would take a car home From the city And drive down broadway (this was me 2 years ago Before I knew you existed) I would see telephone Numbers on chinese Restaurants end in 888 and think Wow, my life is about to Change. And in a lot of ways it did. Like when I take cars home now I go down Metropolitan Ave Which is far less Exciting. I know you exist Now. And i'm sad to admit Sometimes I wish i didn't And this is All just fringes Of what im Trying to say But yeah If you ever have A moment Sometime Next month Or the month After, Check out at that Tree. I'm sure there Are a million In your neighborhood That’ll look Exactly Like it But this one's Got Something Special. You’ll understand When you get A look yourself. I think it'll Be worth it.
