straddling the abyss

you like the idea
of jackson
pollock in his
garage standing
over a canvas
with a cigarette
in his mouth,
his lean tired body
straddling
the empty
white abyss,
splattering paint
like a mad man.
house paint, no
less. brushes
and stir sticks like
tongues of demons
dripping with oils,
reds and orange,
black and peacock blue,
all slung as if by a
demented
drunk man, which is
entirely possible.
it's the genius of
this. of this lawlessnes
this anti-art, this rebellion
towards things in
order, that gives
you hope and keeps
your own canvas wet.