Painting
I align my canvas.
The paint comes after.
Everywhere.
My eyes go.
Flowing and running.
Far from home.
In the studio.
Far from the blue ocean.
I use green, instead.
Splattering. Patterns.
Then destroying the patterns.
Then I turn my canvas around…
When you have a mental illness.
Painting becomes the main quest.
Trying to sleep? I have given up.
I let my paints erupt.
At 3:00 am, I hear the microwave beep.
The paint starts to creep.
Everywhere is a mess.
I confess…
I used to align my canvas, just right.
But now it is spinning.
Paint comes after.
Clean up comes after.
Sleep comes after…
Or maybe I’ll start a new painting.
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