untitled poem

 (untitled)

Van Gogh
once dashed
a ceramic elephant
he’d made
upon the floor,
in response to
his mother
remarking she
liked it.

So many reasons
a child might mark
the narrative like that,
though in the case of the artist
it’s likely the adult
not paying attention (enough);
it’s them
saying you
haven’t seen anything yet,
cutting through
the sleep walking,
what burns inside
yet recognized.

Do you burn inside
each waking moment,
psychic aperture
wide open to universe?
Consuming objective truth
every waking moment?

Probably not.
Please be kind
to artists.