Frames

magnificent obsessions
daubs’ dank dark throbs
driving driven divine
at edge of abyss sublime
farmed, framed ~
hung
on walls~

mingled ashes
biting dust
swirl and rise
form wooden frames
in lieu of busts~

C ‘est vie,
live to hilt
dig, dive full gusto,
bust
you
will
must~

at end of day
even framed
smudges
will dissipate
as they
must~

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