Yes, there is a print now
The mark of 17 glorified rehearsals for
What was
And is
And is to come
Matrimony of cones and particles in my eyes
To give me sight
Over and around
I comprehend light though I’ve clipped on to
Other things so tight
Like fabric
And inhalers
For my asthma and epi pens
And stereos and polyphonic ringtones
But
No
Yes
I’m not really sure
But I think there is a print now
Cashier queues are filled to the brim with
Customers waiting for it
Some have preordered
Some have been saving up
Some just found out about it an hour ago
And joined the line
For pride and joy
To Stevie Ray Vaughn
To the cesspools of my disorder
It feels weird to know
That some one can paint me
Which poses another question:
Am I acrylic or oil based?
Or watercolour for the lachrymose?
Because in the line there are others
Some daunting
Some ebullient
Some lachrymose
Tired of their surroundings
Waiting in line for some kind of enlightenment
From oil
From pastel
From a retrospect of their lives
They hope
We hope
I hope I won’t take in
Vain the grotesque of my becoming
That I can know that even the dismal task of
Waiting in line is part of
My print
Part of the print
Of the worlds order and disorder
The quilt of all knowledge
All hope
All nostalgia
And all entertainment
It warms the insides
Of me
Of every conversation
And every feeling I’ve ever experienced