Shapes On Blue Canvas

With a rolled up burning torch on my lips,

Perpendicular in the big circle were rectangles and triangles.

I became a vessel pointing at all angles like the whole world was within my grips,

The mystic essence of angels –

Dancing on some nights sparkling bright

Withdrawing on others behind those layers of white paper and black ink painting grey art.

 He feared my might and abhorred my sight

Demanding a pint of blood in a sink for colour, he asked me to think about

The ghost of Juan Gris

Or the woman of my dreams

And wish for a kiss before all turns to shatter cone.

© Heath Muchena, 2012

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