More
But I there is more paint.
But there is more color, imprisoned in tubes.
But there is an empty space.
And there, within my hand, is another stroke.
Hanging in the Ether, just on the other side of this
Moment, bearing the full weight of Imminence,
is Another mark.
But there is more color, imprisoned in tubes.
But there is an empty space.
And there, within my hand, is another stroke.
Hanging in the Ether, just on the other side of this
Moment, bearing the full weight of Imminence,
is Another mark.
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