10 AM – out from under the sheets

avoid my reflection

brush my teeth

and coat myself in a layer of blood

If not my own, then whose?


as the oatmeal in the dining hall is changed to soup


as the temperature creeps toward today’s high


for the gesso to dry

and the canvas is primed

for marks that I’ll make

exclusively mine,

multiplying in time

Until no one

can criticize the “white space.”

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