Cally

Deep burnt eyes this January, her work sets her free, even if she loves spiritually, what separates her wooden nails, taut canvas lets her see, painting is a hero game, surrounded by the raging sea, she feels the pull of Liberty, lights her mis en scene. Our Lady frees the pain, in yellow nights of dreams, even if she looks the same, a bravura of scurried fields, maps the bottle, men she weaned, away from that disease, i'm doubtful of her sanctity, a winter of religious scenes, she pencils in another frame, splits another masterpiece. pain, energy, day miss, bliss, christmas, insist those uncertain questions, whip us everyday, to know cruel prison, can they see your feet, the mangrove ticks with heat, no fire or blue reason she won't ever see a horizon of celebrity