-after "Trumpet," Jean-Michel Basquiat

the broken sprawl & crawl
of Basquiat's paints, the thin cleft

of villainous pigments wrapping

each frame like the syntax
in somebody else's relaxed

explanation of lateness: what had
happened was. Below blackened

crowns, below words crossed out
to remind of what is underneath:

potholes, ashy elbows, & breath

that, in the cold, comes out in red light

& complaint shapes- 3 lines
from the horn's mouth
in the habit of tardy remunerations.

All of that 3-triggered agitation,

all that angry-fingered fruition

like Indianapolis's 3-skyscaped smile
when the sun goes down & even

the colors themselves start talking

in the same suspicious idiom
as a brass instrument-

thin throat like a fist,

flat declinations of pastors
& teachers at Christmas in the inner city.

Shoulders back & heads up when
playing in holiday choir of hungry

paints, chins covered
in red scribbles in all of the songs.


About this poem
"I get caught up easily in Jean-Michel Basquiat's paintings, especially his work focusing on boxers and jazz. His painting from 1984, 'Trumpet,' cracked open a tense holiday moment from my childhood. I don't remember any actual trumpets at that holiday fracas, but Basquiat's lines and pigments always seem to create unexpected opportunities for improvisation and meditation."
-Adrian Matejka

About Adrian Matejka
Adrian Matejka is the author of "The Big Smoke" (Penguin, 2013). He is the Lilly Professor/Poet-in-Residence at Indiana University. He lives in Bloomington, Ind.

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(c) 2015 Adrian Matejka. Originally published by the Academy of American Poets, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate