Museum of Contemporary Life

Lazy afternoons on easels Maples giggle loud with sweetness Blue and yellow mixed in grasses Withered wrinkles sink in lilies Joggers run in fear of dying Secret trails end in abyss As the sun stabs days in prisms Bloody madness grabs the paintbrush People old vanish from benches Emptiness sits down by me Artists mutilate self-portraits Tempera in tubes succumbs Painters shoot apocalypse in veins Signatures escape through keyholes Night becomes obsessive pitch black Ghosts invade museum closed ...and I walk by with my suitcase as reduced to it I am... No one knows I carry homeless The Portfolio of my Fate... copyright@iolandascripca2012