Issue 14
Manifesto Four: Rembrandt Addresses the 1960s and 70s

You will turn to color, from the etched
pastoral to urban landscape of vivid oils

that stun everyone already known in gray
and blacks on paper. Line and outline:

here is a woman’s leg in fabric, her covered
curves still clear. You will also not look back

to the ink wash rather than ahead to the gloss:
magazine and Soup Can, the neon Dutch Masters

outside the Queens Tunnel. You will tumble
into photographs and acrylic, and will paint

so fiercely your wired arms go numb.

I have contracted to for a huge exhibit
in the brick and steel gallery

of your sleep, a series of performance pieces
all displayed above this whisper: die meeste ende

di naetuereelste beweechgelickheijt.
So you will believe until you wake

that I really did see Christ being lifted from the ground,
heavy as a plastic sack of seed, fallen from a truck,

that I really observed his guards (like the men
in the grainy video of Vietnam, Munich, Selma,

El Salvador, the Moon) confounded by the sudden
appearance of flesh and color, that I knew their desire

to return to a world of shades and shadow
rather than this one, its ridiculous deaths

and resurrections everywhere, colored
in a television light so harsh I cannot

begin to find it in a human eye.