Mixing Paints
Paint a smile on my face, until mid-poem
a grimace arises and the acrylic peels.
What are these dark angels that cast such shadows
over my cheer,
force my hand to sketch
the grim roots of charcoaled teeth?
The sun is struggling to rise over a pastured valley
while ravens pluck at my eyebrows.
Dark wings and meadow daisies mix and blend.
Death Head moths now emerge,
a word-canvas is once more lacquered over
by a dark and deep-throated coloring.
As quick as lightning, a clownish grin
flashes forth from singed paper,
such comic relief begets a portrait
of my surprised
and beamish laughter.
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