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