-- when I have the tenderness of a writhing dragon,
he will paint flowers across my throat

as though to remind me that fires are indelicate,
and that I writhe in a prison made of open space.
-- this man will not smother me with his skin
when we sleep.
-- this man will unhinge the door of my mouth,
and kiss out the bullets stuck under my tongue.
                                                                ­               ---
whatever thousandth day I awaken beside this man,
realizing I have become the flowers he painted
across my throat, by braving my throat,

I will, unchaining myself from the draconic worry,
bring him his coffee in bed, with a smile.

~
O Painter
with thy own eye
                        would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
            and blemishes true

Load thy brush
                      with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
                  bethought, in deep

With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
                  and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
               of deep forest green

O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
       and the indigo moon.

Paint me as i standeth,
       prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might

Paint me in the optimistic
                             silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
                              of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal

O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
                            in a rainy drizzle

Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken

Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
         with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon

O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
                               in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
             of a quite quaint butterfly

Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
                to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.

Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******

Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;

Study mine own dry sorrow
                              in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.

O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print

Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too
~

Paint a picture for me -
Brush strokes in elephant blood
     of corrupted soil and
     toxic waterways,
     sunless air hanging over
     bombed-out orphanages -
But create with these elements
An image positive
In tone and direction
Framed by youthful vision -
Paint for me a picture
     of possibilities -
Convince me there is a way out...





- fr

Some songs will make you cry,
some verses will make you wonder why
it feels as though no time has passed.

Some lyrics will make you think
spend your time perplexed
as you obsess over the talents
that other artists possess.

Some painting will
force you
to alter your view
as you turn your head
sideways,
to the left
and at an awkward angle
to the right,
even upside down,
in a curious query.

Some works of art
will stir a hardened heart
to actions
of minor and major compassion.

I want to look at people
As if they're a blank canvas
So that their looks
Don't affect my
Perception of them
Which can dictate the
The way that I treat them

I want to look at them
And allow their words
Their character
Their aura
Their minds
To paint their naked canvas either
Beautifully vibrant or
Artistically dull shades of
Sorrowful blues
Mellow greens
Raging reds
Calm yellows
And so on

I want to look at people
Without a bias
When I first see them
Like a white canvas

I want to look at people
For who they are on the inside
For the painting they create
From within
With eyes that don't get influenced
By outward appearances
But by
Beautiful
Masterpieces
Whether
Sad
Happy
Or broken
Masterpieces
That are their
Paintings