Blur the foreground, sharpen the back
Grace its gentle shading
Admire the power of the sun, it’s leaking strands of white gold-
An eye can do that, too.
Strife becomes a tableau
Look at the melon hues they live in
Dusty and light-washed
Art of tragedy, you do no good.
A side order of statistics, to say we did
We take alien angles at your misery
Don’t move an inch, the look on your face
Feeds my children, takes me to galas
I meet walking dictionaries
With outrageous hats.
Drop unthinking blobs of reject colours-
Neon yellow, orange-red
How dare you!
But for a moment there
I nearly turned my pockets