No art can change you

No art can change you.
Poems might brush your bones, movies
graze the nape of your neck, a

familiar touch you might soften to-
for a moment. The books map the
heart wandering in the wilderness
untamed.

And yet your mind is steadfast to
All the yesterdays the sun set upon me
Like a drowning god and

When you wake up the day is just a
Dandelion flying past on the wing tips
Of a sparrow; you watch me
moan again.

Sip on some coffee like yesterday,
the day before and the day before that
You show no difference, indifference
you cannot see nor can I. But

when the night dribbles on us both
You know the ceiling has cracks,
The moon is bruised, and no amount of

paint will ever be enough
to paint it all white.
Van Gogh knew it so he ate his ears before
anyone could

History pages don't patch peeling walls
No Vivaldi can hold together unhinged doors
And by the time you realise art is just a
Ragged blanket we crawl under for the night,

Tomorrow is already lit fire and
beneath all of those ashes
We forget to smile