an eye, an ear

you, my toasty canvas
both medium, and muse
guiding my bristleless brush
over thick froths of white

each day your gift:
another chance to create
to swirl what once was straight,
to spread what should be thin

on good days
i am salvador,
brow cocked to consider
how onions
and bagels
might over mesas drape

on bad days
i slice my thumb,
but know it could be worse
(right, vincent?)

untopple that easel!
for nine digits,
and your other half,

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08 2009

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