Beige paint splatters
On things that don’t matter
While I’m matting my hands
Because there wasn’t enough
To cover the ceiling
We were covering
Brushes weren’t useful
So I was spreading it around
With my fingers and palms
Like I had a phantom pain
Hoping I’d mark it up
Enough to cover it
Splattering a shirt
Sweatpants
And the watch
On my wrist
What better way to immortalize
A painting than to write?
