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 

brush

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

splashing 

drops of defiance

compel algorithms

to shake up 

distracting  kingdoms

 

so 

blak dutch painta

celebrate, and cell paint

rise up their 

colour-full queendoms

 

across the desert 

a

fluttering mystic flower

…STARS AND ZEROS/sons of da painta

Younger paintr