across the desert 

fluttering mystic flower


sandy wind blowing

the smell of colour

haunting nostalgic

with all whistles and bells 

some paint in a pot 

ready to explode

with zen integrity

and  mischievously

to contrast  the world 

of non color nuclear  technology


out of the forest comes the jam 


blak dutch painta

not in a rush


knowing is haunting

troubling to 

the slave mind 

straight outlines 

denied freedoms


a woman finger tips

explore merits of bias

break thru

a glass spray ceiling


drops of defiance

compel algorithms

to shake up 

distracting  kingdoms



blak dutch painta

celebrate, and cell paint

rise up their 

colour-full queendoms


across the desert 


fluttering mystic flower

…STARS AND ZEROS/sons of da painta

Younger paintr