Words for A Tattoo
for J.B.

i.
while her eyes are still lit
all the candles upon, about the altar
to light for mass, from her soul’s fire

my poems are as sacred as they are profane

ii.
turning back through so many pages
for a thought, lost, misplaced,
somewhere in my mind,
before I could get it down on paper,
get it on my computer screen

iii.
why Bride of the Wind,
why Gustav Mahler’s wife,
why Oska Kokoschka, all in my mind,
on my mind, why Gertrude Stein

portrait Picasso made of her, upon her wall
what can I do to make you last

face to appropriate, adopt into art
a citizen, a resident, or elsewhere as well
a foot of shoe on, the other foot bare

dare to ask, I dare to write
rather than behind your back,
making art with your permission

ah, the difference is, Stein’s portrait
was a commission, a professional arrangement
with price attached, portrait in frame
in the flame of fame

a man he loved, his patron,
subject of a large percentage
of Shakespeare’s 154 sonnets

iv.
grab a flower by its throat, sniff its fragrance
instead of doing this, I’m beating around the bush
reading you art history, like reading you your rights

I’m timid, is why, not daring to touch you
though you’ve touched me
picked me up like a puppy in a pet shop
one you might buy

I’d sleep upon your feet to warm them
were you to transport me home

here in this pet shop, among gold fish, parakeets, rabbits
birds and animals everywhere, I await adoption

you’re suppose to be my subject
instead I want to grow big in your arms
I want to bark for you, bark out words

bark at the stars, the moon


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
12:18 a.m. 26.01.08