He works the daylight hours.The artist mends rifts in
trend in an attempt to render a better make than the current model
and wishes cynicism were only temporary. Still
he scans, canvas dripping a face from the crowd
now left to the imagination, eyes unrealized as he lifts his head
from the surface of oil fingers saturated
but with a nod, consciousness intent to drop other thoughts his
way like hindsight bombs foresight anxieties
send him another taken way his mind, diverted, forgets
the shape and color of the eyes in recall as he moves forward,
faster, sitting shivering in the breeze of scrutiny,
mutinously studious and reduced to the pursuit of serenity though
painting an unstoppable slave to happiness
with a bowl of rice and beans set by the easel, its easy to
see why the pictures have been painting themselves