Testimony of an Artist

So much for the pale horse
he grimaces softly,
calmly folding his last breath
and sending it through the surgeons grotesque display
of art and effort

finding a tiny hole amongst atoms
he slips through, politely excusing
those against whom he collides
and squeezes free of what coils,
on earth that held him

peering through a light made of halogen
the masked crusader thrashes, pursuing
each quick incision, Picasso would be
proud, to see such poetry
removed from the brain and,
carved with graven images upon the body

at least he tries,
in all the wrong places
altering how we would be judged
it was the heart that was broken
not the faces

Draining blood and other things
another art to the table now
the coroner brings

A scalpel and a brush
can describe the same horizon
peering through and across
creating a story for the dead
lays the finger on his head
draws the cloth across the bed