Black sheet covering the skylights
Someone's been painting; or is about to paint
I've been wading in the knee deep collaborations
Trying not to swim while not trying to try
Cool Hand Luke with one finger
This is my brush stroke
While I need more colors, I need not search
Theoretically, the color should already be with the ancients
In the grave not taken to
I've cleaned my brush in the conscious one too many
It's a sink hole up there
It's a headache the size of a roof and missing ivory
There's a song about it and Neil Young once wrote that it was the most beautiful love song ever written
When I get my color, I'll paint myself a horse and buggy and rescue all the warm from the cold (or maybe it's the cold from the warm?)(maybe my horse and buggy will be a herse) and we can uncover those skylights once and for all.
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