POEMS

Armledder makes nice wall-paper
… and upturned furniture.
An interior re-arrangerer.
A connoisseur for fur, and everything glittery silver.
A bower bird with no colour preference;
Maybe hot pink and vibrant acid fuchsia.

Stripey Armledder, spidery Armledder, shiny Armledder.
Armledder forever and ever and ever.

Mike Kelley, I keep spelling your name
with only one L, one E, one Y
or double L, and singular Y.

Now that you’re dead, your art seems even more dead than usual.
To think while alive, you were categorical and morgue.
Recovering things you found no use for, to make a use of uselessness,

So what good is it, that your crap fills our museums?

Kippenberger on the streets,
he blends in,
feels quite at ease.

He smokes and stares at those he meets,
Tired conversations.
Kippenberger, privileged and Bourgeois,
You can afford to sit and wait.
To think and smoke and contemplate.
To drink up your annuity.

Kippenberger,
Why so tragic?
Why the long face?
Your sandwich board too heavy?
Break away the jokers guilt
to drink and smoke and smoke and paint.

Dear painter, paint for me a reverie in the streets.

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