61 Days

A smallish challenge to myself: Write one poem, per day, for two months - April and May. 61 poems, 61 days.

A slipping picture
On a wall that's
falling down and
crashing towards
a violent sound
The striking of the
ground by the
old master on the
the fury of the
centuries finds
itself on the ground
Social commentary
Or poetry in art
Or still-lifes in
a new dimension
Fighting against
some standard or
so they claim but
I can't really see
And after all of this
I don't think anyone
really can claim the
shattered frame and
broken picture are
fit to fight anything.

The End

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