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picasso :: tim nolan

by on May 23, 2016

How can we believe he did it—
every day—for all those years?

We remember how the musicians
gathered for him—and the prostitutes

arranged themselves the way he wanted—
and even the helmeted monkeys

with their little toy car cerebella—
posed—and the fish on the plate—

remained after he ate the fish—
Bones—What do we do with this

life?—except announce: Joy.
Joy. Joy
—from the lead—

to the oil—to the stretch of bright
canvas—stretched—to the end of it all.

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