Sabotaging Section
A Poem
take your seats
the lights are low
plenty of space behind the curtain
it is a curation desert
an empty gallery
that’s art?
you ask
you like to push time
so what did you do
Saturday Squanderer
he said, practice this chord
until your fingers bleed
like learning to whistle
she said, you might pass out
through your fingers
more air, less tongue
mean it
make it echo
to call the dogs off the mountain
to hope they don’t come home
skunked again
or worse, quill-nosed
or not at all
find a rock
so you can brag about
your ability to manifest
crystals
imposter on a trail
what was it all for
you won’t go through
that velvet opening
your hands are too tired
for the heaviness
of that drapery
or for what the audience
might not see
©Samantha Lazar 2019
Thank you for reading. Here are some more poems by Samantha Lazar.The Risk to Love
A Poemmedium.comFallow Years (Parts 1 and 2)
A Poemmedium.com
Samantha Lazar, Writer 