stiff bristles
stained cup
fingers tremble
purple drips
a staccato beat
onto the beige
drip
drip
drip
the hiss of
steam as the
sun rises to
half paint a sky
of incipient hells
the paper flutters
or perhaps
it is my
heart as
it contemplates
the necessary
brush strokes
to watercolor
the weekend
in shades of
her smile

an amateur monet
scribbling sketches
of beautiful dreams
these hands
have no business
yearning to
explore
sloppy
brushwork in
a whirl of
counterfeit creation

despite the
desperation in
my colorwheel stare
the proper shades
remain aloof
poor penmanship
and an awkward
grasp at artfulness
a stack of half
etched subliminal
disasterpieces
and a fool
paint speckled
in flurry of
happy sparrows

the purple
drip
drip
drips
as the coffee
steams against
the passions
swirling in
half dried
dreamscapes