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