Spill enough acrylic, no one will see
the raw linen, no one will say, his bones
protrude, a pitiful apology
 
for his loss, no one will say this atones
for cost projections cast a cold eye, horse-
man, no one will say a paint stick postpones
 
his pointillist apocalypse, restores
our faith in rehab, no one will say, shit,
this is good shit. Neither artists or whores'
 
men, no one will, say, willingly submit
to his hypodermic drill-bit of pay-
dirt, saying what no one will say for a hit
 
too fatal for this skeletal jockey,
mainline, pure, uncut. No, no, one will say.