Painters hands always so messy oiled up
reek of turpentine smoke moonshine
Alizarin crimson streaks lamp black roots
their faces gesso'd to unreality they fan
brushes broken
canvases filled to their brim
much as poets
who reek of  one day's and starlights
mountain peaks they haven't seen
Martini's black in white spaces, coats waiting to attack,
tie up.
With dried up pens, filled notebook paper.