how to be an accelerated museum 

traffic under my finger nails 
& the continuous worrying of horns.
the hoods of cars opening up to reveal
they had been harboring great big 
swan-birds all along. the swan birds
painting master pieces on 
the windows of vehicles as they drive 
(dangerous). someone told me
real art is dangerous. 
this painting is flammable 
this book is an electric fence. 
this electric fence is a performance 
& the cows are learning to run
& the high way is made of pastels 
so everyone is smearing on everyone.
i tell my dog to go to sleep please
to please please go to sleep 
& wake up when the world has less noise
& less colors to keep track of.
if i were to get rid of a color
i would take away red even though
it's hungry. red makes me think 
of the way my dad walks through museums
never pausing at one picture or
another--he moves as fast as he can
as if he's trying to escape something
as if there's someone in a painting 
he doesn't want to run into. 
i'm hanging paintings in my mind
so i can go visit them when 
i'm failing again to fall asleep.
i'm sorry i'm not more patient.
i'm sorry i always want to be moving
faster. bumper to bumper 
there's a school of silver looking fish
all wish paint brush clutched 
in their mouths. they're probably off
to try & believe in something.
i hire an artist to come make 
a museum of my hallway.
i tell him to make it like a flip book.
he asks of what & i say to surprise me.
he surprises me with an animation
of me climbing into a hot air balloon.
i appreciate it very much.
it's a reminder that we all need
to get as far away from the ground
as possible but here i am & i walk
museums just like my dad 
next painting next painting
& everything i write is about him somehow &
the traffic is so red red.