the long con in poetry

They say there’s people who dream
of things other than being an artist
but I have a hard time believing ‘em.
I think they’re just making it up so
you know if we don’t get there we
will feel okay because there are
people who don’t even want it.

Doctors and lawyers
presidents and plumbers
teachers and baseball players
they are all needed, of course
and sometimes they pay better
than being an artist and
that’s a smart move to make
but to dream of it?
It seems silly.
It seems like sour grapes.

Who could ever dream of anything other
than telling stories,
through words or pictures
or songs or paint or steel
or rock or whatever?
It seems like a con.
How could anyone really not ultimately
dream of being an artist.

It seems like something people pretend
so that everyone who can’t art
won’t be sad all the time.

We certainly need to have food grown
and useful things made for the home
and cars fixed and whatnot.
People say we need things like
priests, politicians and soldiers
though I suppose that’s up for debate.

If you prefer stability or money
or whatever to your dreams, that’s fine
mazeltov, but how could anything else
be anyone’s dream?
Dream. The thing that drives them mad at night.
Dream. The thing that gets them through the awful day.
Dream.
How could you dream of being a stock broker
or dream of making blenders or being a therapist
or being the mayor of somewhere?
These are all fine back-up plans
they all have a use in the world
if you’re not lucky enough to art.

But I can’t imagine the internal world
of someone who doesn’t just always
wanna chuck it all in the fire
and make art.
It boggles my mind.