Fate Opens The Door

Poem and Art.

I hear it in the grocery store
the dripping wet kidney with sardines in its mouth.
Screams multiplying under the microscope
and a nude photograph made of cheese.
Round and round 
the carousel of mosquito bites, the turtles 
are crashing into windshields and barking at the rain.
Every man holds a statue of salt in his breath
and every woman cures the blind with a bright red fruit.
The cardboard city crumbles 
as the mighty elephants make their way 
through the streets.
Soaked in vinegar.
Soaked in mud and wine.
Soaked in the thunderstorm that roars and explodes
in the nun’s groin.
Smaller than the eye of a spider.
Minuscule mouse hiding under the worn out bandage.
It’s peaceful living in a grain of rice.
It’s peaceful living in a tiny forest
I found Jackson Pollock 
splashing paint
on the wall
I was crawling through.
He said spirit is the process of turning filth into virtue.
Only in the empty chair.
Only in the final bottle of the burning house.