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Pollock's Peice

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Left right,left right,
His fist swings with a sort of violence
And beautiful shades of vibrant colors splatter.
Pale, blank canvas… ruined.

No, he doesn't think so.
This is the process of creating a masterpiece,
Yet no one believes him.
Art isn't always about the product,
It's about the process.

His finished frame hangs high,
Last pollock piece, perfect.
The stain seems so lively,
Yet the last drop of blood fell with ease.






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