Brush clears away, effaces & over time
is itself effaced, life is
dirt, only death
is pure, white, crisp: we are born
into a sluice
of emotions
crispness only in 2D, cartoons,
the pretence
of exactness
that we chase
but never
touch
a daraughtsmans dream,
an artifice we
ache for -
here - only here - in
imagination's
gallery
is it found