My palette empty
until I swirl colourful pigments
bearing a bruised rainbow
smeared with ominous opaque.

Sweating eyes bleed
until I slash the canvas with my hand
decoded in mustard braille
and a roughened rouge beret.

I attack, throwing up a
frenzy of purple shading and a fire
ball of orange but it all melts
into green goo-like orbs.

Pink stands alone battered,
surviving red’s grafts;
I plant circles deep into the scene
and curse them a new creation...

for I have built Eden.

A volcano of creativity. I like that.

Les

I love the imagery here...your words are as vivid as the colors of your palette.

Joe

thanks for the work. This morning I saw also a painter on the street making what she makes. Took the time to acknowledge her, a recent friend of sorts.

amo et avanti,

Peter