strokes, blurs

  rough chaotic blotches of color

invade a clean, blank canvas

somewhere inside

grey birds call to me

their songs bursting into blue flame

branches whine upon the shoulder of the air

secretly proud of their special burdens

black

black unobstructed markings

cry

their tears obscuring, concealing

so we cannot see it, feel it

cannot taste the bizarre sweetness

of a world untamed

of a life

unprotected by the shield

of a clean, blank canvas