Chiaroscuro

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My name is Line
But I’m not a line
At least not by the mathematical definition
Perhaps figuratively
But I don’t know
I’m not too self-aware

My job in this world
Is to curve, bend, warp
I can’t help it
Sometimes I even outline
It’s a very time-consuming life, though

Usually, to arrive at my workplace,
I’m blended together with my family
We’re stuck in this gloop
Until someone takes the cap off
And begins to force our gloop’s presence
Onto a flat-ish surface
That’s when, one by one
My sisters slip through an aperture
Their movements dictated by the Master

Now, the cap is off
Pressure is being applied
I feel myself stretch
I pass the event horizon
I’m shoved against a globe
And strewn out, discombobulated
Onto a sheer white oblivion

My name is Line
I represent a shadow
In the Master’s artistic vomit
This is my new home
I’ll stay here till I fade
Into parched and yellowed history





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