Paintbrush on the Swing

I see me, hanging heavy on a rope
from the clouds in the mystifying mist,
swinging for time in the weird wind.
The clock invented. The clock tower of God.
The long pendulum swinging in a long arc
into heaven dipping my feet into heaven
and back dripping through the mist into hell
dipping my feet into hell and dripping forth through
the mist into heaven dipping my feet into heaven
and back so through the mist into hell dipping…

*

My dripping feet a paintbrush beautifully dirty
with primary colors and all their mixes.
A watercolor world on a damp paper canvas, with nothing
as (only) pure red, blue, and green in the long arc.

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