Jackson Pollock, unknown title; I call it "Paw"
You wreck my shop and my house
and now my heart, but how can I run
from what gives me life?
I am weary of personal worrying,
in love with the art of madness.
Tear open my shame and show the mystery.
How much longer do I have to fret
with self-restraint and fear?
Friend, this is how it is.
We are fringe sewn inside
the lining of a robe.
Soon we will be loosened,
the binding threads torn out.
The beloved is a lion.
We are the lame deer in his paws.
Consider what choices we have.