Art's Exhibit

A hole I don’t remember in my wall

Look through the hole

Dig into the wall

Images I hoped I’d never see

Deck the hall in rows

I painted them years ago

In someone else’s blood

With someone else’s love

I painted with the curtains drawn

When the agents said they’d pay me well

If I signed on to sell

Some old singer told me that it burns

I laughed at what he said

And took a piece of bread

A quiet crying stopped me and I turned

A young child’s innocence

Stained black in my ink

I’ll give you back the wages that I’ve earned

Throw them on the floor

I remember something more

“And what is that to us?

We’ll keep your body hung

Preserved in a plastic box

Immersed inside our fluids

For the exhibit”