Make It Make Sense

by Paige Johnson

Make it make sense; become the craft. Wrench it Up by its roots; shake ‘til meaning spills out. Vomit insight on art—on all, commit. Shove opinions down throats; smother their shout.

Frame photographers, shot in our image; Deafen singers, tune their voice to our tracks; Chisel sculptors into shapes of our casting; Spray painters, our colors seal up their cracks. Pick the arch up, the architect teeters; Stifle directors, here’s plastic vision. Write between lines of writers’ fevers, Our artist’s eye bleeds tears of derision.

We decomposers make ouroboros; we feed off art’s artists feeding off us.