Poem
Private Masterpiece
by R.A. Simpson •
You turn on lights inside your head
and after drawing in that mist
soon decide how you must paint
Taking some brushes and primary colours
you make a long and massive wash
a spectrum fading into nowhere
This painting which you hope will last
is now complete on silky nothing
almost paper or is it air?
You watch it rolled and stored away
somewhere beyond returning
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