He got there first
and we are all
now paying his price
deep in debt
to that one black square
soaking up the rays
then spitting them out
a heat signal
alive in the brush strokes
the best colour
for desert garb
and domestic radiators,
but we don’t like to go there
stay chromo phobic
fuelled by pastel shades
and fluffy pillows.
Keep it to canvas
if you can
black four-sided trap
no openings for release
when our eyes
at last acclimatise
to the blackness of it:
laughter is hollow
it can’t be black, not really,
and how would he have liked
our new and deadest black
residing in carbon nanotubes
layered on metal sheets at heat
so matt, so dark
that light itself turns outside in.
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I particularly like the last line, ‘light turns itself outside in’ and ‘a heat signal’. They explore with words in a way that he was trying to do with his art, I think. You could possibly try to invent some words without direct reference to syntax or meaning: Suprematism for example is an invented word. I’m not very good at that sort of thing, myself but I believe in art for art’s sake and that people should be free to explore in their own way.