the wallpaper

Part identical dropping petals and branching stems

from the gaudy floral

Their dots and dashes in congruency

Creating a cohesive mass to drown in

I tip-toe, stretch and

play the game of Operation

but the buzzer sounds and like a piece of flypaper I stick

and they stick back

I’m redrawn into organized layers

of chevron and hound’s-tooth

polka dot rubber to my knees

pin-stripped wax fabric covering my arms

my canvas is covered into a mixture of patterns

that stifle and I just want to be solid.

Like the crop fields of continuous brown or green.

Undisrupted by the interplay of other colors

I prefer to be siphoned by mole holes and

crow's nests

I prefer to be a part, not the whole pattern

Only ravaged by rays of sunlight that bring depth and life to the countryside

Instead of the chaos of order that plagues the rest of this

Tapestry of mess.