Davis is a black hole
That sucks in
And misunderstood art students of all media
Cattle-prodded and chicken-brained
Through unlatched stable doors.
Drawn gently at first,
They hope against gravity to make of themselves
But they only cycle and spiral.
Inevitably becoming heavier and more dense
As their corralled potential chin-tucks
Into a suffocating ball of
Clipped wing feathers and flowers
Safe in a Mason jar.
Suckling their thumbs dry
And fester at Café Roma