Poem

The Artist

/ /

Born to find his metaphor,
He used to play out in the woods.
He doesn’t do that anymore.

He went to school, found more and more
The can’ts, and don’ts, and musts, and shoulds.
Born to find his metaphor,

And live outside the either/or
(A way to tear the rules to shreds),
He doesn’t do that anymore.

On the Enneagram a 4,
He was a captive to his moods.
Born to find his metaphor,

An ice-cream cup with flimsy oar
(Quixote-ed verisimilitudes!),
He doesn’t do that anymore;

He doesn’t know what it was for.
Merlot relieves the platitudes.
Born to find his metaphor,
He doesn’t do that anymore.