Listening to the dulcet voice of my generation cooing
At the crying child of our future doing an impression of nature
I wear a bespoke suit of full-body goosebumps.
My eyes would overflow their eroded banks if clean water weren’t an issue
But it’s 2018
And it is,
And my blood would spill outwards a free mosquito banquet
If someone else didn’t own that too.
Every day more horrendous acts in the name of reason and science
And only art to dress the wounds:
A little girl crying in her room googling how to make her skin thicker
How to build a mask out of dead cells and crazy glue
We’re all artists!
Especially when we least realise it
Because the best art is uncontrived and flows naturally in and out of the heart without conscious effort
We are all artists and that may be the only redeeming face we wear
The only thing worth leaving carved into this blue planet
With the strip mines and potholes
As if the earth were ivory pre-1989 and free to own, sell and scar
Businessmen are lauded as artists for excellence in their field
Tools of devastation are considered works of art
A murderer practises his sordid art
We name our kids after artists
And we name our art after disasters
Because everything horrendous still must have a name.