Fighting Irony: entry

If it Ain’t, Don’t

I used to be so angry.
My watercolor skies dripping red
my favorite orange, Blood.
My stakes deep in the grassy ground
defended with sweat
sweeping gestures of passion.
Woe be it to the boys, girls, dogs
whose only mistake was
wrong place wrong time
my clinched jaw, my gnashing teeth
indiscriminate
unprovoked.

Today there is no time for metaphor;
only time for money.
The sky is blue
the orange juice orange
the ground frozen dirt or scorching cement.
The anger
indifference.

Today there is only
broke strapped overdrawn
in the Red.

I used to be so angry he said
About what? she said
Everything he said
about all the Information without the Instructions.
The fun part is writing your own she said
No he said
the only fun I’ve ever had is in taking things apart
in destruction
She says-
I was never rich enough to break things for fun.

The next painting I buy
(I gave up the brush when she gave up the bottle)
will be of a sunset.
I know so little now of destruction;
everyday endings where the blood used to be.
And blue everywhere
absolutely fucking everywhere, Blue.