Defaced #poetry

I stand awaiting your approval

 a fresh finished canvas

anticipating the final touch

but you the artist are unsatisfied

rather than a final wash of color

a knife rips through the center

displacing form and hope

dangling from the frame

I hear the sound of

drip drip drip

paint leaves its mark

indelible is bold crimson

on the floor where I once stood

a blot that can never be removed

but really what does all this ruin matter

for all that I was is done

dreams slashed

the palette dries

ugly hue the color of mud

and I can neither look up or down

I am a flailing bit of ruined possibilities

 

Do you ever look at something you’ve archived? Whether a drawing, a painting, or a poem some are worth excavating. This is such a poem that has possibilities.