#Escapril Day One - change of state

It was last June when I met Mona Lisa.

That cool expression, a faded gail.

And now, a year on, I notice

her gaze is different. It’s present, moved. 

But I too bear new lines, some skins shedded, 

boiled over, removed.

While other skins have gained, like tree rings, threading new tunes.

With feet planted, my jellied eyes 

stare back at eyes made only of

linseed oil and mineral spirits.

I think of those warm blooded hands,

labouring to paint a face just like mine.

Can a soul exist beneath this flat body stretched over canvas?

Could this flesh I wear be a similar blend of brush and paint?

Anchored to the ground, I realise:

To discover we must first destroy.

A frog belly, 

torn open under blade in teenage hands

exposes a strange inverse to 

poor Lisa,

uncut behind bulletproof glass and framed wood.