As I get older

I wonder about the other
young-blooming, insecure
artists, who also got older.
Some of them did this too;
Some of them did not,
I wonder about those.

Was it weakness?
Did they lack the vision?
Was it fear? Depression?
Simply no maturation?
Was the money too good;
The house too warm?
Or were they
just that good—
to begin with;
From the start?

I think I’d like to be twenty again;
The age I was when I first
discovered my style.
But I do not wish to be twenty,
just so I could push paint again,
as though I were twenty. No.
I can still do that today— and more.

I’d wish to be twenty again,
just so that I could hunt
all the sweet, twig-legged
twenty-something girls—
and invite some to bed with me.
I think, maybe then, I could
leave behind my tendencies
toward my old style.
That’s all, Picasso.

written on 04/05/2011 by: Matt Kane