Ones that cover acreage on
this funny field of a canvas.
That was my year, today.
Soft, smooth scrapes in un-
expected directions, enough to
change the scene's momentum.
That was my year, today.
Pin-thin scrawls on the edges of color,
on the sides of the sheep skin stretched
tight across the wood.
That was my year, today.
Another thick slap of paint
pulled slowly with a taste of pennants
with a mouth of penance.
That will be my tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
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