My Dead Brother

Jackson Pollock painted my dead brother
i saw him hanging there in dots and splatters,
Jackson you used too much red
now my brother’s dead

My dead brother moved around a lot
Salvador Dali thought what he thought,
drew himself all inside out
i’ll never figure it out

…A door in the sky is open wide
museum walls drip him inside.
it’s better to run than it is to hide
an artist left me here

Before he died my brother sang to me
you never become what you want to be,
Keith Haring’s blood on the tip of his tongue
Georgia O’Keeffe painted his lung

Pablo Picaso’s cubist views
my brother’s feet in my brother’s shoes,
he’d run out in the watercolor rain
screaming against the pain

…A door in the sky is open wide
museum walls drip him inside.
it’s better to run than it is to hide
an artist left me here