I
I have been so mute, wan and fierce
In painting all the Knights
Shaped like an orb
Beseeching me to paint on a Lea
I arose, miffed;
On pilgrimage to destroy the knights;
Echoes of their footsteps
And unsheathe of their brushes,
Journeyed my mind
And stuttered my speech
I saw their eyes,
I saw their mouths;
Schadenfreude on my plight
But- my rout upon the Knights
With my pains from the orb,
Made me soothe as habitats
In Acropolis struck with ecstasy
“Enormous and influential painter”-
Said the Knights
And here alone; your sacrilege haven,
The painting ends
II
Until I ceased being wan, mute and fierce
That bonsai blossoms berry fruits
And volcano springs cataract
That the bird becomes shackled;
And its lyric on all as though a sole on oily hot sand-
You chained yourselves,
And relies on nothingness.
