The Ladder On the ladder we stand. Ascending to somewhere, Descending to nowhere, Depending upon our role. We play our parts. Andy Warhol slapped down serigraphic scenes: A clock, ticking down our glory. “Everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.” His parable is posthumous pop-art prestige. His part was his masterpiece. Any man, traipsing up the road and back again, The world has him as its yo-yo. A life spent living the drudgery expected of man And neither a step up nor down. Clinging to his rung would seem his only part. The sage of men is thinking, Thinking new thoughts of hierarchy. Equality assimilates him - the one-mind! - And the only ladder is in his secretary’s tights. Fifteen seconds can alter our standing. Lifetimes of consideration Are suddenly realised in fifteen seconds. And, the basis of that thought can Unsettle our purchase on the ladder. In those fifteen seconds the ladder can be destroyed. In the one-mind the ladder is nothing! But, equality and idealism only exist in the one-mind! For we know, in the real, The ladder is all too evident. We all play our parts. Warhol knew the ladder And his words encapsulate his fame, For those few words Made his fifteen minutes an eternity. His words are his masterpiece. His words are the ladder.
Andy Warhol, American artist, film director and producer, died today in 1987.
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