You’re Artsy Because

You’re always imbuing
everyday stuff
with meaning,
like that strawberry shaped bruise
on your forearm
you got God knows where;
you keep calling it
a sign.

You’re artsy because
you want to commemorate
the oddest holidays:
Festival Of Dolls, National
Eat A Licorice Gun Day,
International Toilet Paper Tube Week.
You want to wear their banners
instead of your coat
in a blizzard. 

You’re artsy because
you actually think my world view
can be improved
and you keep trying to improve it
by being utterly yourself.  Whoever
heard of such a thing? 
Everyone knows
we’re better off
being more like
other people,
right?

You’re artsy
because if it’s nothing else, it’s art,
and I don’t know
what else to call
the improbable twist that is you.
I’m saying that’s you
being artsy,
creative, inspired,
though none of those words
means a damn thing close to the truth
of how electric the air is close to your skin,
how luminous surfaces become near you,
how the seeds of new things
are everywhere you step,
how much a lover of art
you make me.