The gallery is a chaos of noise, as each painting yells out to anything that can hear, curses and envies those damn sculptures with their three dimensions. How do they rate, those grim and monochrome things?
But we, at least, they tell each other, we paintings are not always alone inside our frames: sometimes a little dog or flute can be seen in us, a vase, a posing servant. <END>
Buy it at amazon.com/author/terencekuch: For Anacreon, 30 poems of love and life from the ancient Greek poet (originally published as a chapbook by Silkworms Ink).