Long shadows spill out of the lamp of your soul
they slide up the walls, become tall beautiful canvases
slender and perfect surfaces for the colors of the voices
painted with words and not poems, with poems without words
slap that brush you paint with, that brush you call tongue
mesmerize the tumult in the center of this twinkie society
trapped in the cream of ignorance and indifference
drunk with the manufactured sugars of life
paint the willows in the hearts of the weary
multicolored trunks will make them laugh
they will spread themselves, they will cease to weep
rising the limbs of their melancholy
turning them
into branches of glee
and overcome
scream!
that!
painting!
into!
reality!
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