a vision of love

from the time we breach the birth canal, nature & nurture work with & against event & circumstance to render an image of what love ought to be

an effigy of the transitory

at first chance the fledgling artist emerges and proceeds to imprint that image on every surface that manages to hold the eye without regard to
how the canvas will receive the media

but when what we expect
falls shorter than
we could have ever wildly imagined

misplaced blame will cuss our currency, and set out to slay deities and fates alike

the colors run, the linen buckles,
the structure weakens, the easel bends
the bristles dry, the fumes solidify and cement and the wood warps and weathers
and once rust finds the metal that supports the instrument you may as well throw it out
lest it stain your masterpiece

vilify your claim to fame
mar your good name

so if you find yourself lookin’ round
like “yo’ love don’t look like mine”

you’d do best to take up photography