Dear Picasso,

how can you be
so careless
so incomplete
so ADD
as to
purge the
skirts you chase
as easily as
a disagreeable
meal?
are you
so blinded
by the
liberty
afforded
by
art
that
you can't feel
a broken
heart beating
beneath you?
or is that what
drives you -
the pain you feel
at leaving
the painted
tainted
behind?
echoes
of her
your
broken heart
beat,
move your hands
with rhythm and
life that
you can't duplicate
by any other means?
how can you be
so careless
so incomplete
so ADD
that in all your desire
you miss her
desire
to please
to bed
to complete
that which is
incomplete
for more
than a few
waves of
pleasure?
beware.
your life
is public
domain,
my friend,
and for all
the
pleasure
you give
you are
an open book
carelessly
incomplete
with your
ADD.