The Source Of Art And Inspiration

I have become everything I am
as a reaction to a memory of a missing girl
I only ever knew through her picture 
blistering on a milk carton I saw roasting
in Dad’s trash barrel back when they used to let us
burn our trash in backyard barrels,
back when I used to love to stare
into the chemical hues of the flames.

She sputtered in green and sick-blue
as the fire kissed and ate her from outside;
then, a feather of flame tore out from within.
I lost her full face to the heat and learned so much:

the missing become famous, the missing
are multicolored, even the blisters of the missing
are beautiful, and if you can’t go missing for real
then just be silent. Just keep your mouth shut,
smile permanently, wait your turn.

Escape notice long enough,
and you can let yourself burn from inside
and that will be memorable for all.
That, after all, is where all the toxins collect.
That is what becomes a painter’s fuel.