Off the Potter’s Wheel

Support my flesh
with nimble fingertips,
caress my talent like clay.
Mold it deftly with the potter’s hand,
and wait until it’s dry and perfect.

Then break it.

I’ll become famous
like the sleek Mexican barro negro,
because “Nothing bad can ever happen to an artist.”

Smash me on the ground,
break me into sharp shards,
leave gritty gravel stuck in my skin.

Make me your ugly pot,
a calamitous new form of counter art.