Artist Do Not Starve
from bread, but from meaning.
And from Dadaism comes breakfast.
Canned goods-less nourishments,
but more words on the can,
more explanations handed to you.
Artist do not starve from wine,
but from hands rushed down rose-colored paint,
fading away original intent with questions
suffocating arguments over smiles.
And from absurdism comes lunch,
a black brick, a splotch on a canvas sandwich.
Please don’t explain it to me.
Artist do not starve from grocery bills,
but from suggestions to help sales.
And from impressionism comes dinner,
Van Gogh washes his down with yellow paint,
his throat not quenched from the led but from when people ask him why.
Artist do not starve.
Artist eat everything
until you garnish it.