Arrive late; give the leaves time to turn. Tardiness only breeds complications if you care. Don’t think you won’t spend months office to office, state to state, life to life. It’s an autumn you didn’t know you’d see, it’s the end days of summer though you wondered if the seasons might stop.
The worst thing someone can say is “nice.”
Push the paint around in puddles, abandon it to saturate slowly. Stay nice if you like, stay quiet stay still stay in pools of pigment and careful plans. Walk penciled lines if you choose; play the part, play the game, play the politician.
Skip the niceties and get to the point. Get behind the scenes, arrive late to splash paint on the walls, arrive late in brainy bravado. In dreams we crowd him, shouting loudly, shouting opinions we think it’s not his best work and it’s not the best show; it’s quiet and empty and everyone shouts opinions.
Look them up and down and tell them they’re made for more.
You need a context,
Blow-drying will flatten the colours,
Cast shadows go last.
Roll your eyes run your mouth speak before you look let them love you for it if they like. Sit in the centre, at the station, couched in dropcloth and drama. Stamp through the snow through the sparrows through a slow buildup of blood and heartbeat.
Make every bar look like Nighthawks.
Watercolour by Philippe Favet