she shows us the concrete house the house lived in by the artist prosthetic leg from the knee down left middle of the floor with cat-torn trash bags and scattered papers pipes exposed plaster open like shredded blouse from drop ceiling to paint splattered redwood floor boards the refrigerator open and unplugged dripping bags of food and overturned milk jugs wasting down the refinished stairs to the basement white with track lighting for models and stills easels and cabinets well-maintained

diabetes dead the man’s work well preserved in the row home museum flowers in vases and gardens black old order horse carts field men’s blades cutting fresh winter soil wet from frost melt while he alive now the satyr lust more alive than his fake leg disused on the cat fur throw rug bedding down nymphs fresh from the street finding a way in with the mice at winter

watching one of the abstracts on the wall the trails of color swirling and intersecting realizing that the mass of line chaos on the textile-machine woven gesso canvas

mirrors my mind picasso maintains geometric order dali the realism nature supporting the surreal nightmare but now celtic concentric circles and meandering gold snakes have imploded through the snake devouring its own tail immolates itself and watches itself undone synapses respond like a skin chick blue eyes blind beak open stretched neck to mother bringing worms regurgitated

sex sentiment attentive to the black brimmed hat the glans disintegrates like limbs falling gang green fingers at the elbows knees finds in the cool garage on the valley humid morning incubation sale the spaghetti mass of color like my mind tags it 50 cents woman wanting modern décor for the sweating yellow one room apartment fan sucking hot air in because she prefers the feeling of air

southern chester county mud flats bradywine river the wyeth clan and friends view the river curling under the straight brick walls he sends the boy a sketch and says keep it it will be worth money someday or trades the maine swede with rifle and lovely naked girl a painting for the wardrobe sitting in the empty room a composite of dusk retriever dust and death sell it for less than worth due to independent self

the wealth of nations lets him lay in the field painting roots sucking the puddle of thaw on his belly propped on elbows perspective hyper close lets him sun for lunch and think of the black stretched on feather mattress in tones too wild for rural America worried only if hunter might mistake his sudden side switch for grouse stalking more silent and attentive than the seer interpreting the flight of birds through cumulus lets him think until dead enshrined in captivity