You speak, you draw

Continue to speak
Realize how the the’s almost feel like pokes
The its’ and it is’s and I’s and you’s
And me’s and he’s
Talk about the big green
and brown trees
sometimes
It feels like
pointillism.
The meaningless meaningful words repeat.
Dots in a huge canvas.
What does the mean?
Is The the The of the’s?
or maybe they are The the of all the

Words?

Draw words that mean nothing, say sentences
It is pointillism

Cut the pattern, shred it apart with words
The beauty, the extravagance, my beautiful pearl
A chaotic monstrosity, a masterpiece
Disturb the beautiful array of dots
Fill  up the space betweens the the’s and the it's the hims and hers
Fill The space between dirt and the skies,
the stem and the flowers
The your’s and you’re’s the me’s the mine’s
The us’s and the our’s

Pick up your brush, and continue to speak
The strokes and dashes, I want to hear your drawings
Open your mouth, shape your lips, I want to listen to you state
Something like pointillism, corrupted in paint
Stained with beauty, dots surrounded by rambling lines.
With sharp formly edges, formed from uniform rhymes

I’ve always hated pointillism, when it isn’t stained at all
A piece of just dots, created to give meaning
To something unknown,
but only with straightness
No longer a drawing, but merely a graph
Aligned by the straightest
And stiffest staff
In an attempt to create a perfect clone

I'm an admirer of art, only when its drawn
When it's spoken with paint, in varying tone
So beautiful and so raw
Earlier, before, previously, I saw
that
You’re a good speaker, and I like how you draw