Portrait Painter

weekend been here

taking care of everything

although it isn't much



tell the inventor of crayons

many wallpapers they've improved

and tell the funeral parlor



I still feel ripped off

sick of making deals

I'm slipping on dead leaves



it's like he had two homes

and in this cabin

he kept what mattered most



always open

but if anyone came too close

they'd pass through like a ghost



never saw him

sit still only in his boat

I was not welcomed there



so still, real still

as he was practicing

to finally give in



the cabinet's emptied,

abandoned it will rot

I lock up and leave



the wooden rowboat

half-sunken in the reeds

the wiping out proceeds



tell that portrait painter

his eyes weren't that color, no

still I recognize the glow



drawing

shows a boy whose rocket leaves

disappearing over trees