(the third of 3 Brett Whiteleys)
... he became his admirers. - W. H. Auden, 'In Memory of W. B. Yeats'
You’ve succumbed. Tall Poppy,
they crave to say you’ve over-stepped.
Don’t go too far. Stay too far. Settle
your petals against the sand; today’s
a hot one on ego beach. Where we
can see, between the flags!
Swim on a rope.
_________How’d you expect us
to eat all this? What,
weren’t you thinking?
What weren’t you thinking?
in the kitchen, sniffling;
we want to feel your pain
but not forever. Brett,
it seemed someone was missing,
was not listening.
blown away as studio dust
or shot up as lunch.
painted our waiting,
expectations in exquisite detail.
We’ve been tailgating you,
true, your faulty tail lights.
This was a painting of ambition,
Icarus flightpath. Ambition is there
on the canvas, waving, screaming,
drowning in world. It writ large.
Alchemy at brettwhiteley.org