Musings in Paint
silly scales and bleeding pastels
drunken colours swimming across grubby paper seas,
lines lounging like lotus-eaters
swaying sloth-like to the breeze of the brush.
The canvas speaks of bent streets and crooked faces,
all met with entropic embraces
it sings the world back to you slightly off-key,
a little worse for wear,
with beautiful wrinkles no-one else can see.