My eyes breathe
They desire a gulp of canyon
But only get a lick of crayon
Pits burdened under the Atlantic’s ass
Cannot speak their enduring tale
They silently heave
Enduring, while I color with Crayola
In a silly attempt to replicate
The sunrise I saw last evening
The day my marker tastes like lemon
Bleeds June raindrops
Rakes sandy brown desert
Over the 8x11 standard canvas
Will I flatten to a two-dimensional
Black and white shape
Sacrifice my pulse
And die happy
No comments:
Post a Comment