Art

I give kids paint, that won’t dry till December

call the art names I won’t really remember.

that’s when they told me, your morals are phony

lust only finds you, the men that remind you.

 

Painting a soul doing lines in an orange chair, soothe me-

–or maybe it’s when I take pictures of wanders invading cooly.

I don’t really know. I should really know.

 

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