You are an upside down painting
not to be understood.
Yet the critics, the painters, the buyers,
the liars
stroke chins and murmur contemplative
sighs at you,
write books of great size of you,
make eyes at you,
surmise of you.
I’m not surprised at you
if you are laughing.
1 comment:
Did you write this, Isaac? This is awesome! I've never been on your blog before. I will now make myself welcome.
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