Inside a room with four windows.
An angle at which you see out these
windows is not normal.

You're looking one way,
but you see in the total opposite direction
out of them.

In one window, a flower is in full bloom
with a half-set sun behind it.
Red, orange, blue.

Another window is dark, full of stars
and one shooting star.
Black, blue, white.

The third window-the ocean in midday,
clear skies, green, ocean blue, sky blue.

And in the fourth window,
a dull looking lake with gray skies.
Gray water, gray sky.



The bloodless, eyeless cadaver propped up by a
cold steel rod that runs up to the back of her shoulders.

The master surgeon turned painter by night,
sold all the organs on the black market.

The stink of embalming fluid penetrating,
his nose hairs stiff.   A welcomed smell.

The eyes, not for sale sitting on a large wooden
desk. The brain, emptied, the skull chopped in half.

The gray of the cement walls, staring out through
the eye sockets.   The painter begins to paint.
















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