I paint myself a picture leaping,
Sooner the brush strokes rushed,
They were crusted from disuse,
All was tired lest never they muse,
Suddenly I saw myself leaping,
The painting was walking with me,
I tipped the paint over to see,
I drew myself a world to see,
The skies: I painted them yellow,
The grass is blue, I’m red,
I’m also a person. I like that.
The road is long, I’ll be there,
Just a puddle there, I see;
A mirror now, I see to hold myself,
Now I shall cross inward to breathe,
I’m giving myself to the hills,
I rush forward to gasp in awe,
They sigh and look towards the end,
I look back and saw myself again.

Category:
Avant-garde, Poetry, Works
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