The Painter

He smiles.

Soft tissue
Stretched over spine and rib
His canvas,
Bare and ready for his hand

With the leather brush
He creates
Stripes of color
One strike and another

His color’s
Red and Purple,
Abstract lines stain and
Leak to the floor
The canvas contorts
In screams

He is finished.

His masterpiece,
A bloody landscape
Our Lord’s back

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