Destroy your art
Creative destruction, said Marx,
Is the fat cat catching its tail:
Devouring like Ouroboros.
Catastrophic capital loss
Leaves impressions across the sand
As longevous as any beaching whale.
Creation, on the other hand,
Picasso famously stated,
Is destructive by its nature –
And him, famously, a painter.
But perhaps, if you focus in
On some of the brushstrokes Pablo painted,
Your best eye might make out a thin
Fault line rent asunder, or catch
The echo of an explosion.
Bringing this idea to motion,
Pinoncelli “happened” upon
A Fountain or two of the copy batch
Of eight commissioned by Duchamp
With urine twice: a hammer once.
He said it was “A great white whale,
A golden calf, a holy grail,”
But it’s tethered, weathered and there.
The beret, these days a cap for a dunce,
Signifies – therefore is not – flair;
But what’s on your collective head,
The public, which is what you are,
(Postmodern Op, Deco, Dada?)
Watching Yuan Chai and Jian Jun Xi
Jumping on Tracey Emin’s bed?
Watching the crowd that’s watching me,
I’m Michael Landy breaking down:
Each time a poem forms, I die
A little, never to retry
The title one more time. What larks!
My modus operandi is a frown.
Mistaken for art or rubbish