Picasso

How can we believe he did it— every day—for all those years? We remember how the musicians gathered for him—and the prostitutes arranged themselves the way he wanted— and even the helmeted monkeys with their little toy car cerebella— posed—and the fish on the plate— remained after he ate the fish— Bones—What do we do with this life?—except announce:Joy. Joy.Joy—from the lead— to the oil—to the stretch of bright canvas—stretched—to the end of it all.