Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Daffodils (post-modern slight return)

I wandered lonely,
As a mixed metaphor,
Blowing candles sentimental,
Breezily in the wind,
Waiting for Diana,
To roll the cake in,
Faster than a cannon ball.
I came upon some daffodils,
And tore them from their roots.

I foisted them into the wax-works I made,
Of Morrissey's anus,
Carefully strewn on the gallery floor,
And I stood around my art installation scene,
Fluttering for the Turner.
Excuse me? What does it all mean?
Well, what do you mean?
So beyond,
So beneath,
I say: Float your own meaning,
For me? There is no frame.
Strange questions!