Poem: The Dance Bipolar

the dance bipolar
By Emma Rosenthal
(dedicated to one i love so much i cannot bear it.)
he’s not sick_he’s an artist_don’t call it an illness_call it a transformation_she tells me
if it were any other disease_cancer  ms  tay-sachs_yes it would call forth a transformation_but it would also be a disease_and we could name it_we could speak of it in polite society_without fear of stigma_there would be fundraisers_and society banquets
he isn’t sick he is an artist_don’t call it an illness_call it a transformation
i contemplate the difference_between matisse and van gogh
hands withered from arthritis_matisse picks up children’s scissors_the only implement his swollen joints could maneuver_and cuts_paper cut magnificent_new blue green splashes of color_cut paper_innovative_majestic splashes of color_paper cuts that sing a zzzjazz symphony_dance tap swing hips paper cuts_swaying in concert halls_accompanying the masters_zzzjazz symphony
van gogh_tortured racked and ravaged with the savage mind_chemicals imbalanced _his mind a soup of bitter thoughts _swirling images_pictures dancing on naked walls_stars spinning out of orbit hurtling to earth_irises a kaleidoscope of color_he is a beethoven symphony_or modern cacophony_turbulent disturbed
his final painting avant guard_pure  performance art
he walks into a field after the harvest_golden stalks sway naked in the wind_desolate and lifeless
one shot to the head_splaying blood on the golden canvas_brilliant composition_innovative use of color_contrast to the naked steel gun_the color of midnight_the acrid smell of gunpowder
the french countryside the sounds of birds_the desolate fields after harvest_the grazing goats in the next meadow_the sky vast and promising_the blood the gun the violence _unimaginable one second before _two minutes after_the final scene_brilliantly  juxtaposed
early surrealism_pre post modern decadence_performance art
he is an artist_he isn’t sick_don’t call it an illness_call it a transformation

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