art represents life.

what an alluring painting before my eyes in a white ceramic bowl 

colors that drew a horrible brown stew full of vodka and what i assume is yesterday's lunch.

my head sensitivity stimulated from a penthouse suite immersed by views of other yellow squares.

my heart sensitivity guilted by the hand on my back, then head, finally settling to my right foot.

as i protested and itched that someone could be there,

from one gesture, an anchor has been lifted, letting the current take over.

the identity crisis kicks in,

which makes me more sick in the head than stomach.

suddenly lost and found become one.
starting to rethink feminism.