Yayoi Kusama

people turn when she walks down the street
she has so much depth in her, she's petite,
long black hair, or a short bright red bob
you never know, depends on the day
carrying a golden bag made from macaroni
making you wonder if it even opens or not

phallic symbols or just simple polka dots,
colors all over the place, and she just mocks
everyone, from love orgy members to gallery snobs
who are all under her spell and put colorful dots
on their naked bodies laughing and dancing
as if everyone is equal, and no one is unfairly advancing

she smiles softly, but all-knowingly
her laugh lines hold both sorrow and euphoria
the eyes are steady and strong like of a warrior
who has fought battles, won some, lost others
she wears her stories openly,
she's convinced that she pursuits colors
because she cannot write, but
what about all that poetry?