Friday, September 17, 2004

A Poem

White spirit on my spirit
A painters soul on my hands
oil dripping through frozen fingers
Ice clay shaping
monumental forms
Art is subjective, don't you know
i see beauty in your
but your soul is becoming black
as your doodles become evil
hatred in every stroke
and you influence the art
that draws it's self around you
blue and black
on white
white purity

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