Circulating Images
Not stomaching the day,
tuna fish can empty.
The canvases
were spoiled by ugly reds, and
gloom was fed
the last crust of bread.
Doomed he brushed another,
painting a fish for trade.
He gave his
masterpieces to her
a supermarket manager
who risked it to a gallery, and
gave to him a fish.
She’s auctioned it,
sold it for ten thousand.
Hanging is the painting:
fashionable wall,
upper crust ball. The
picture’s picture is in the paper,
a public promotion growing
He’s moved:
a studio in the woods
The canvases were spoiled again,
a crust of bread so moldy.
Doomed he brushed another,
painting a lamb for trade
For lamb chops
he gave his
masterpiece to her
a farmer’s wife who
sold it to the banker.
The auction went well,
a sale for a million.
It was hung on a wall
for a mansion’s hall
with guards and velvet rope.
As good as gold
a “Fish” and a “Lamb”
were made
a collection piece.
He’s moved
to a hovel
painted an abstract.
To paint the rosy picture well
the syndicate’s issued paper for
the Greatest Artists’ Corporation.
To market
to market, the
art stock and bond
Home again
home again
he’s eating a frog.
He’s moved to the mountains
to look at the stars
The stock market has crashed
and so has he.
— Snerd Lee Limbaugh
