These paint strokes
Birth poetry--
Art competing for art,
When all you want
Is to be a great artist,
But you are pulled
From morning
To night
With every cycle of the moon.
You've no friends left,
And all you have left to wear
Is a pair
Of canvas shoes
And a pair
Of paper wings.
A sound like
A baby crying
Calls you out into the streets.
You pull on your paper wings,
And step out into the rain.