Renaissance

A canvas is an angry thing

It doesn’t like me.

But I try to please the whiteness

constantly beating it with color.

A rainbow of bruises.

It’s a Pollack thing,

The madness in a Van Gogh,

Obsessive pointillism, though,

it doesn’t respond well to threats.

Maybe love would do it?

A little Monet in the movement

across the surface,

A romance in pastels,

Anything to wipe away the white,

To please the view,

To remind me I am still alive.