Things are Being Made Clean

by Brent Armour

Things are being made good
You’ve seen the clouds blot out the sky
The quenching does not leave you dry
An alabaster magic eye
to see the future told
Be we not so bold
They hunt us down
To end the race, declare the win
The autumn leaves the winter skin
as they’re proven to be men

Things are being made pure
You’ve seen the shearing conquistadors
tidying up their ever green lawns
A flower’s bloom with each new spawn
And fragrance ferries into dawn
which color has the most allure
to those that carry its namesake
The petals land upon the cure
and bury in its evil wake

Things are being made clean
You’ve seen the sheen sticking out
Bloodied bone spokes sliding through
The sweepers are the boys in blue
Conservateur gloves with crowbars in fists
Smashing negatives where equals exist
An ocean of memory swallows all glasses
and the funerals precede the masses

Things are being made white
You’ve seen the sharks break through the brine
Teeth slip through gills and yank
Held within a waiting tank
Until the readied blades contact
Those fishermen hold congress and state
that these beasts are breaking their pact
Swimming across a sacred line
with every living act

Things are being made plain
An absent brain, a spurting rage
it guides the hand and paints the page
The artist does not know his age
He traces fears in concrete chalk
Yet collectors buy and critics balk
the saving grace of this awful knave
when the buyers cease to arrive
when he takes the painting knife
encrusted with a darkened red
and paints himself and his own life
and paints himself instead

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