Great slabs of light-refracting gloom
Are laid out, dismally, across the lobby
They seem to suck light from the room
Shocking the easily shocked was your hobby.
Life is short. You gave them a new angle
An offering for a vampiric brood
You gave them – a dark red rectangle.
It was a metaphor made from your blood.
You knew that you would die soon.
No light for you. You liked to look down.
Let this growling tantrum in maroon
This absence of light, this sullen frown
This dismal slab, be your memorial.
It worked for you. Your art was janitorial.
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