Thin wood boards,
Shaped like kidneys,
Serve up splash-patches
Of cupcake colors,
Born from skies, eyes,
& oil-burnt French fries.
Starting as pop-flops,
Meandering glop-slops,
Eager to take on
The timeless task
Of painting fresh faces,
Still life & old places.
To be fair,
Nobody cares
Whether it be
Good art or bad —
Only that it jump-starts life
Into our cold, dark hearts.
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