I work on small sections at a time.
Crayons scribbles in a corner.
Round face stick figures smiling,
some of which have faded.
I weaved shoe laces and sewed
buttons on it, some which tore,
or fell where the canvas weakened.
Small little lies repaired, pasting colored
patches from other paintings on the rip.
I also pasted post-it notes in random
places. Some with names written
in pencil, some in ink.
Post-it notes fall. They stick to my shoe.
I drag them when I walk by, loose
them in the piss of public restrooms,
loose them in dog shit while I walk the dog.
In the center, oils, Alizarin crimsons,
Indian reds are tediously mixed. They
join with no line of demarcation.
They streak like blood spill, the
color of her lips.
One day I’ll complete the piece.
I’ll see it from behind held up to the light,
and forget where to find the artist’s signature.
DQ 3/3/7
