I am using the daily prompts provided on Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides blog on writersdigest.com
THE ARTIST AT WORK
Skritch and fuck, swish and lucky strokes rush
across the canvas warp in abstract caper
entropic maelstrom beauty born of exigent hush
running empty into that fury of apocalyptic wallpaper
hanging over her like furniture-matching rectangles
of immutable futility and anonymous self-belief
that ephemera is eternity if it strikes the right angles
and can rebuke incredulity with existential relief.
She is bones and brush, mechanical, and stain
washing colors onto ceremony and her small, sacred heart
beating out the devil’s details with pigmented pain,
ritual wrist flicking forms onto flatness like small, sacred darts.
There is no target but truce, and pushing the maelstrom back
running full into that fury between the white and the black.