Blurred wind of tentacles
of rain trails streams
upon that dropped slate
of that merciless paint
that nips the gloveless hand
bespeckles the whim
herd lying with the tech
from splattered lands
to the fingerprint of stain
to run and fetch
where the Art connives
where the honest pain
isn't the dishonest bland ?
The soaring blame
the curve headless
always all
buried in sand