The Artist

the artist The Artist His hands shape of squares, connected to fingers flowing. Spastically spewing attach from his mind onto his paper podium. His idea aged by lead days, conception and birth, all in three days. I directly witness growth. He nurtures it along correcting it by erasures, all lines coming together like experiences received by aging. Disciplining with deep unconsolable depressions carved swiftly into the papers flesh. Now adulthood approaches. His hands shaped of squares.

Gently, brush off erasure debris. He sees me watching, as he glances to see where the debris has landed. He smiles proudly. Bibliography: ...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Orderessay

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