that deal where we squeal our insides onto paper
try to paint on canvas the depth of human feeling
take clay between our fingers feel it up
into magic illusions half assed statements
work into the night's  dark feeling
make allusions
hide nothing
it's all right there before your eyes
just camouflaged by metaphors
and painted sunsets with our fingers
that that makes us human
alive
death has in our flow no
control anymore
and love is visually stable
never  ephemeral
caught in time by a heart
a soul and put on paper
forever
in return we release
an artistic ******