Untitled 19
I’m not an art
you paint with blue-
strokes swayed with hue;
nor skies, oceans, and seas
swirling through the iris
as the light bends apart.
I’m not an art
you soak in glue-
teared, mashed with dew;
nor masks, brackets, and props
flashing gold as it drops-
the clamor of a heart.













