poetry by j matthew waters

artistic criminal

I was the little one
maybe the runt
wide awake
[while the others slept]
painting the walls

there was no need for brushes
as long as I had two hands
& eight fingers
no need for interpretation
as long as the walls
were well lit

by the time the sun
started showing herself
I was nowhere to be found
—which of course was when
all the fun began

april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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