First, last, second.
They create worlds—the they
Of lucid light playgrounds—
Where tulip pastels have their place.
Oiled valleys, layers on layers,
Gouged canyons in painted utopias,
Linseed and turpentine,
A mingled mélange of mindlessness.
You never appreciated straight lines,
Precise projections of the world.
Transfusion of mercuried dreams.
Strokes from an unkind brush.
With what impression will you