Plastic Ants
His artistry is unpolluted
the way he pushes color across his world
is a miracle.
Whorls of potato people dancing
blots and dashes of undiscovered animals
black lightning streaks strike
a squarish-lemon meringue sun
orange finned tuna flying without fins..
A crucifix lies within the letters of his name.
He's wielding a slashing strong palette tonight.
Prolific slinger of colors you are
your mind must be tiring-mine certainly is
but yours never seems to quit
one last fit of color for the night
always well outside the lines
He finally bows to a milk and cookie sunset,
his fingers stained beyond recognition
a rainbow's premonition.
He's sleeping like a cherub...
beside a giant plastic ant-
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2020
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