Monday, September 7, 2009

Short Poem

Lock me up in heaven
she tells me—
all white and boring.
I’ll paint my way out,
with blood, if necessary.
Brushes create doors,
from which to escape—
an enigma, for all
who are dreaming
of beautiful things:
things like heaven,
things to destroy
with a brush,
an epistle,
an idea.

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