THE DEPTHS

Flat host buildings
dismal hues
roads ahead
with no good news.
Hunger strikes
and a taste so bland
Tries to nourish
A barren land.
Colors grab
and tear at my heart
withhold the gift
of solid art.
Pieces enter
and leave my soul,
parts I need to
lose or hold.
Doors inviting exploration
evoke in me
no fascination

Janet Brice 7-8-1988