Still Life Imperfect
Bitten fruit in still life oils
shined by light internal
shows there is no sweet perfection
immortalized eternal
Portraits crunched, pureed and such
by hands dissolved, ungifted
wipe the paint from canvas skin
until the stains are lifted
Soak the sky with thoughts of art
Speak like a simpleton speaks
Scour the ground for a speck of emotion
to hoard in your hollows for weeks
Reconcile to read a book
Bury your heart in it's sleeve
At the moment you feel like a still life imperfect
you humbly ask and receive...
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