Alone now, moving forward.
starting fresh, again.
A new white canvas,
correction; an old canvas
frequently repainted white.
Coats upon coats
covering layers upon layers
upon lives.
Never truly white anymore
just a shady tone of current position,
codename: late thirties, many lives lived.
I’ve been modern, classic, romantic.
I’ve been impressioned upon,
drowned in blues,
mixed in surrealist situations.
So I begin again by being corrected,
not a new canvas at all,
just another layer of the self
shifting into focus.