Of Pink Elephants and Paint

The paint drips from the end of the brush

dipped so elegantly into the pot

Waved onto the wall as if in a dance

making me see things which are not

such rose colored beasts that dance from this prison

these four walls never held so much life

I feel so light headed, yet so entranced by the movement

of these pink elephants that came to light

I can't see straight, such a dense smell lingering here

I sit down, take a breath, only to reel a little more

Watch the dancing of the pachyderm parade before my sight

drop my paintbrush, it splatters, dead on the floor.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For Shouko.

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