The power of picture
is empowered by a mixture
of glowering fixtures.
The souring tincture
and the sweetest licks ensure
a towering fissure
in the form of contrast.
The storm born in a frame of composition
and born to last.
As if it were torn right out of the past
so it could be sworn in at last
to a court of frozen bomb blasts.
Locked in a glossy cast
so it could be passed but rarely passed by
without it catching the apple of your eye
and making it feel harassed until walls break down
until you cry.
This is only possible if you care.
If you dare to bear witness
to your fair share of the pain AND the pleasure
From your 3rd round of blue kamikazes
to seeing FDR lead the world in a wheelchair.
From the burning fields of Nagasaki
straight into Tienanmen Square.
A picture is like a tank.
Once it is here it is here.
But if you never truly see it,
if you never stand up and stop it and look down the long long barrel
of its might, then it might as well roll by you like you’re not even there!