In this art class we paint the world.

There are children in white shirts, white shorts, and bare feet, picking from a burdened tree laden with mulberries,

There are cars driving into the air bound colonies of locusts, grasshoppers and flies,

There are nets of dripping spaghetti flung at walls, and also at ceilings,

There are scrapes and bruises and bloodied noses standing over gym floors, their dyes and smells staining the shining tiles,

There are plastic glasses of water being wasted on patterns on the sidewalks next ot the

Houses with shadows of willow branches and light’s bitter criticisms, houses awash in

Light and there is moon-shine being a fallen glow being of the homes and the bedrooms of which we live in,

There are colors and wind and there is glitter being the exploding force in our eyes as we,
Young, and dizzy, press them to our faces,

There are chocolate stains on our faces.

In this world, there are voices touching film, permanent reminds of what once was, there are voices on cassettes, invisible voices on cassettes…

In this class, we pain the world.