Said The Canvas
Beneath The Paint
Breaking down the easy spirits
Above ground alone to my senses
Peripheral dense in the depths of the present tense
Grinding the halt to a stop
Entirely
Dominating the prophetic illusions come true
Like tributaries form the big rivers
Like teardrops in a bucket
Like one bird amongst all the birds flying over this earth
Said the canvas beneath the paint
To the bear in the pot belly pot
While calling the kettle a slacker
From the worn leather couch
Across the shag carpeted floor
While grinning like a canvas in his blank youth
Unflappably flying
Any flag that the flock floats
8.16.2014
CFR
sf
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