Strokes lick the canvas,
Empty paper–blank to bright.
Brush hairs tickle color into the picture,
Incongruous unharmony–but that’s the point.

Blue hues replicate the temperament,
Expression of his face,
The tremor of his rough rainbow hands,
Vibrato in a blur of grayed lines.

Reality distorted, touching on twisted,
Fingers slender, tracing the outlines,
The edges of life and the living,
Dirty nails scratching only the fragile surface.

Torturous tension fills the scene.
An ill world exploited for its glamorous corruption.
Water dipped in color drips, sliding down the canvas,
Running its wetness over the curves of figures,
Sweat trickling between their eyes,
Tears spilling over, rain being ignored.

Palette likens a swamp,
The murky mix of life,
Light and dark all at once,
The master, a painter.


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