..
This poem is drawn
……(and quartered)
in charcoal smudge
and the sludge of
lily pad glee. Stretch
her in pencil-thin
lines, out-of-time
strings, the long lost
things at the bottom
of your artcase. Place
her cloud-shy in a
magic marker sky,
and just try and tell
her she’s not quite
real. Feel
her flow, traced in
lace and grace and
the glow of that gold
-leaf moon. Swoon
to the smells and spells
of turpentine and oil
-paint, palette ready, brush
poised. Make some noise
as she steadies her outline,
pulls on skin, begins.
.
Day 21. Because even when April’s crazy, we poem.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
Easy, natural rhythm. I’d like to hear this at a spoken-word.
That was a nice poem! 😀