Vegas

I was told that I can’t have a muse

That I don’t paint enough

I only smile at that and keep painting

Even in my mind, I keep painting

I look at the ripples on the pool 

In the early morning, as I swim alone

The way the light dances in expectation

Of the new day

Later, when I return the sun is hot and full

Lovely people looking as if they belonged

Here in sacrifice of money, yet not lost

As temple draws hungry pilgrims

This massive Aria Resort is flawless

With every luxury built for worship not

Painting, yet not without expensive art

And avant garde photos of Christopher Walken

The two-thousand dollar money clip in the men’s store

Is sized to fit many Benjamins more than it costs

In elegant sterling silver and 24-karat gold

Which the salesman tells me is hard to keep polished

The young beauties who adorn the hallways and 

Telegraph sex in scanty clothing and swimwear

Are on a mission of mercy like nurses saving

The sick who are not dying but come to life

I imagine my brush running along the outline

Of my marble tub and smooth granite walls 

That are the color of your legs when tanned

Knowing that a soul can be felt, but rarely painted