CANVAS
                                               
                                              only nine fingers
                                              the painter broke
                                              and when asked why
                                              only nine fingers
                                               
                                              the painter replied
                                              in language untranslatable
                                              splashing paint
                                              acrylic bats flying blind
                                               
                                              you nosy bastard
                                              what are you doing here
                                              in the studio
                                              of my soul
                                               
                                              not stopping
                                              the tenth finger
                                              snapped back
                                              parallel
                                               
                                              top of the hand
                                              tiny crack
                                              toothpick thunder
                                              she broke down
                                               
                                              in front of him
                                              shamelessly
                                              delicate mixture
                                              crying
                                               
                                              whimpering
                                              a swift kick
                                              to the ribs
                                              sleeping-dog soul
                                               
                                              and in anger
                                              he asked her to name it
                                              and many swear
                                              they can hear her answer
                                               
                                              her scream, the title
                                              as they look
                                              at the vanishing point
                                              and listen
                                               
                                              others hear only flies
                                              as they hover
                                              over foreshortened
                                              dog carcasses
                                               
                                              once home
                                              he sawed his typewriter in half
                                              with tiny hack metal teeth
                                              then drank himself blind