If I were an artist,
I would never wash
the color from my hands

or from my smock,
or whatever it is that
artists wear

I'd parade around,
a festival, might even
adorn myself with lights

and I'd hum, and I'd sing,
and I'd whistle, clap and dance
up a storm

say artistic things in made-up
tongues, you'd get the gist
despite the words

at night I would dream of rainbows,
and waterfalls, and time gone by,
albeit in monochrome

for dreams these days
are not what they used
to be

and in the morning, I'd rise,
choose colors for the new day, 
while coffee brewed

yesterday's colors would 
fade of their own, without
intervention on my part

my skin, my mind, my life,
is both palette and canvas,
today I create what I will

cc: CC '22