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-