Let Us Paint Poem by Phil de Lange

My heart pounds like a drum:
perpetually bleeding, feeding, needing
a smile of anxious wisdom

Let me spill valiance on
four boundless boundaries binding
my mind on bipolar dimensions

May out-poured red
readily roar in the canvas rift
(white as phantom blood on a pagan sabbath)

A ventriloquistic voice violates verbal sanity
branching from the mouths of
evergreen charlatan harlots

It is this golden goblin gracefully guzzling
all that is rightfully righteous to his ravaged art
(incredibly incandescent in its broken shell)

This hopeful hermit happily lives
with scornful scrutiny inside,
bursting a binary bulb of luminous love

He sleeps subtly seething with silent solitude
(snared by societies sacrilege) and
yet still...

He will scream...
scream...
scream...