deepundergroundpoetry.com

It just feels good.

It was the morning hour
brilliance hung heavy
actually it was steam
from the shower.

Insperation nevertheless
it had to be done now
a compulsive artist at best
and so then it was.

Carving with gusto
tearing that shit apart
like nail polish
it chipped away.

Like a shelf in the hips,
totem-pole ribs,
gaunt eyelids.

Shades of red
blacks and filmy blues
Overlapped and dripping
left a therapeutic scent.

He winced and said, "I really adore your artwork."
then his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Written by SychophanticSlag
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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