Do Not Claim Me, Oh Disease Art!

Do Not Claim Me, Oh Disease Art,
Compel me to walk aimlessly
Down foggy faded boardwalks
In reverence of the bums
Who are pure art,
Terminal art.

I would do well to catch you, Oh disease art,
Attracting the bright colored skirts of women,
Pretentiously staining Dostoevsky books with coffee,
Sweating against a piano on an early summer day,
Only to retreat into the wilderness
Like an old Russian monk
wallowing in Jesus art.

Many search for you, oh disease art.
Quantum physics is tedious.
Psychiatrists are expensive.
We must instead support the well-bred artist,
As he walks down shimmering hallways
Mopped immaculate by the old Chicano lady,
Starving artist.

To anyone who will catch you, Oh disease art,
No matter how famous their affliction spreads:
Art itself is the grouchy old painter
And we -- its cracked and wilting brushes
That bleed the colors
Onto a canvas
Never seen.