What Is GALL? (Art Lives)

Art lives!

But art is asleep
in a glass snow white coffin
where people come to Disney World
and spend money to sit on a sticky cart
and watch art from behind a lapbar
What is GALL?
GALL is that one guy that slips out
from behind his seat, runs over,
shatters the coffin and
tasers art in the balls and yells,
“Wake up, bitch!” and when at is like,

“But I’m tired, and my balls hurt!”

GALL tasers art again, because art is obviously
not awake

Art lives!

But art has gathered dust
in its one-room studio apartment,
living off of cold pizza and
half-and-half,
paying the rent
with money mommy and daddy
put into its trust fund,
wearing its fat pants
staring into the mirror crying,

“I used to be beautiful!”

What is GALL?
GALL is the police officer
come to evict art
from its Dorito-crumbed shirt
and semen-crusted thighs

Art lives!

But art has grown too posh
living in its high-side apartment with its
little yip-yip laundry lint poof ball Chihuahua
that all the neighbors secretly hate but won’t say
anything about because art’s daddy is really damn rich
(Don’t you just want to punt the thing?)
What is GALL?
GALL is the eco-terrorist that breaks into
art’s house, takes art’s doggie, and drops it
thirty stories to its loud and satisfying
thud of a death because “Mr. Happy Num-nums”
is an awful name for a statue

Art lives!

But you call that living?
Art lives like Terri Schaivo
with a feeding tube
and a colostomy bag
(No shit!)
which catches undue praise
and critical acclaim
flushed daily into
elementary school field trips
and high school English curricula
(Emily Dickenson?)
What is GALL?
GALL is the crazy scientist
who pulls the plug
and uses art’s good parts
to build a half-art half-sex slave
to lay with at night.

Art lives!

But art got locked up
a long time ago on charges of
indecent exposure, disturbing the peace
corrupting the youth, and standing idly by
while “I saw the greatest minds of my generation destroyed
by madness, starving hysterical naked…”
(We're quoting Ginsberg again?)
And art doesn’t drop the soap
anymore because of the risk of Bubba.
What is GALL?
GALL is the crazy inmate one cell over
whose friends smuggled him a nail file
and a half-pound of C4 in various
baked goods, and doesn’t listen when art says,

"What if we get caught?”

"Shut up and keep digging!"

Art lives!

But art is a crackhead
wandering through
southeast DC
at 3 in the morning
shouting,

“Where’s my fix?”

What is GALL?
GALL is the intervention counselor
waiting for art
with the rest of its family
as they each take turns
discussing how art’s decisions
have affected their lives

“How do you explain Road Rules?”

“And Clay Aiken? Come on!”

Art lives!

But art has lost its way.
Art has found itself bleeding in the gutters
hiding under a cardboard box and wishin’
that the Gods of society
still loved it

“Why does nobody love me?”

What is GALL?
GALL is the preacher-man running the
street-corner soup kitchen that finds
art and teaches it to
Raise up!

(Preach it!)

Stand up!

(O lord!)

Get up on its two feet!

(O God!)

Would you shut up?

(O…k.)

Art lives!

But art is a crotchety old man
sitting on the front porch
with shotgun in hand
and a six pack of Budweiser
next to its wooden rocking chair
shouting,

“You lookin’ at my eye?!”

What is GALL?
GALL is the goddamn kid
leaving burning brown paper bags
of dog shit
playing ding-dong-ditch
everynight
(What a way to live)
Laughing itself to sleep
knowing art will have to clean burnt dog shit
off of its steel toed boots

Art lives!

We are here to piss our names in the fresh snow
on art’s driveway

We are here to take art off of its high horse
kick it in the balls, and say,
“Fucking use ‘em!”

We are here to sneak into art’s room at night
and attach jumper cables to art’s nipples

We are here to take art from its sexual repression
and show it our collective genitalia

(It will never be the same again)

We are the string connecting the bad tooth of art
to the door of life

...That’s a horrible metaphor

We are here to Samuel L. Jackson
art from certain scaly doom

We are here to give art a wedgie
until its tighty-whitey granny-panties rip

(Oh nooooo!)

We are the minstrel that gives and gives
'cause motherfucker
Art lives!