ABASHED
Eye asked my husband
if I was a creative
genius — he said “No.”
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Eye asked my husband
if I was a creative
genius — he said “No.”
My Paintings are loose
dripping like punctured abcess
colours even fall
Eye Claim
Responsibility
for 9/11
and Quite a Responsibility
It Is:
I have not sung a song
in honour of
Destruction-ism
(My New Art Form)
I have hung
M(eye) First Husband’s Love Letter
upon M(eye) Refrigerator
Sky of Cloud only
first blush turns Florescent Pink
unexpectantly
My sculpture melted —
Dance Demonstration Request:
He told Me “Curtsy”
On the night
Eye painted M(eye) Bomb
the wind picked up
and Eye made for the deck
where M(eye) salvaged pieces lay
laminated together
on a glass table top —
just as Eye approached
M(eye) kitchen door
a gust had the nerve
to lift M(eye) work
and sent it flying
down to Destruction
Eye tried to paint
a mushroom cloud
and out it came
just like a shroud
looks to me
could be a tree —
or standing back
brain imagery
By Timely Construction
There Exists
One Room
in M(eye) House
for The Undernourished
The Devastated
The Sublime —
held in port
for The Outcome
of Disaster
and Love
What did Dr Blair
hope to achieve by holding
me down for so long?
Eye would paint the sky
in oils feathering greys
for M(eye) clouds of Gold
Joanna Gilman Hyde 