"Whirling, twirling, an

Inescapable monotony

Of squinting eyes

(So analytical for being so young)

Talk and talk and talk and

Hope

No one hears you over the airbrush machine

Mutilating inks

And bending, contorting

Pigments

Into something you always wanted.

'You're losing it from eye to hand.'"

9/23/2005 11:27am