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Paintings Are Fun

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How painful is this actuality,
“Ouch,” says the needle
as the spine of the knife
is severed from its morbid tendencies.
To hold the turnicate on the hemorrhage
as colors are splattered across the walls
and the Crying Crains dance among the ruins.
The earth split with the blood of nature
and parasitic weeds grow stealing souls
as if they were a haunting plague
that an artist dreamed upon during a nightmare.





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tucker brofft said...
Dec. 15, 2008 at 9:18 pm
wow. this poem is the bomb. i posted it on my wall right after i read it. i hope the poet goes really far.
 
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