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I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. Brushed. |
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Canvas draped, paint peeled. |
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Gallons of something puddles and you take the pictures. |
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Hurl stones around breaths. |
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There will be shadows and holes. |
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I, the Swan am beautiful and a desist in space between being and idea. |
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I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. Brushed. |
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Neck stiff, a stone-ed image of different male. |
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Words will work swollen kindered knees to the floor. |
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Canvas draped, paint peeled. |
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Gallons of something puddles and you take the pictures. |
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I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. |
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Canvas draped, can I feel? |
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I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. |
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Canvas draped, can I feel? |
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He picked up a large white vase and pitched it. |
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Sharp porcelain lined the shapless pool of liquid formed by its contents. |
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Of the man that pulled at my feathers. |
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The artist, the true manifestation of struggle. |
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The shattered porcelain greeted back with fresh wounds. |
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Memories. To be, naked. |
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I, the Swan am beautiful and phallic. |
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Canvas draped, can I feel? |
