“Pollock”


 
In the melancholy film,
a gawky cowboy, collop
of clodhopper, awkward,
wants to be Art Star, but
unsure where to start.

 
In the ineluctable film,
the son of some Jack or
Jock drips a drop or
accidentally drops drips
off the edge of abstraction

 
into documentation.  A
relentless film crowns
him painted into a corner
of his myth, his theme
dribbled out on a limb

 
on film – an endless
film – him flinging
himself down and
away (careering
hubbub of fiery

 
fame).  In the sad film,
after too many beers
and ribs (a scared
Icarus now) his
fearsome car flies...

 
flips out of the picture
(melancholy frame-
up – the film of him,
the art star – startling,
starting over somewhere).