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The World Disguised in an Impasto
-Spring 2006

We painted across the skyline a shadow of cigarette smoke. We dipped our brushes
in the river making an intoxicated range of colors flowing through the rapids and
down the ceramic cliff. It falls and shatters like priceless porcelain. Shards then take
flight and rip through silk trees. We watched as the bright leaves turned grey and
filled the neighborhood streets of exclusive communities. The priests’ and pastors’
faces were blank and speechless. Their hearts hollowed as it hung like fruits in late
autumn. And it’s not getting better—I could feel the smoke we created in my lungs
and it’s weaving in a cancer.

The windows’ frames are the edges of a canvas with a picturesque image of
illustrious light, but a disguise of an impasto covering the overflow of a colorless
sky. The movement of the wrist slides the brush through the canvas, an image of
the choir singing through the crack door of the sleeping chapel. After this night, can
we at the very least attempt to open the blinds and allow the light to shine for
tomorrow.

The World Disguised In an Impasto
Poetry
2006