A heart attack for a low ease puppy

Bolt the square to the wall

and hope it never falls.

For its frame is weak, facing elemental woes.

But from the abstract, as many fantasies are birthed,

she can't be a prisoner to the canvas, the hues.

 

She's more than the feature papyrus,

now flesh, heart and emotion.

Breathing penetrating passion from the lung that paralyses,

tracing exact thoughts in a frosted screen tongue.

Is it futile, these litanies of excesses.

 

Twenty-four hours laying before the chopping block

as the preacher offers of a double portion,

and the comfortless look of a dull axe

is a heart attack for a low ease puppy.