fine art,
not the paint cans splashed
onto the floor
of a canvas
in Jackson's garage,
or a tomato
can,
replicated tenfold,
but true
art,
the masterpiece of
hand
and brush,
the light and color, delicate
or bold,
life come to life
with precious
infinite strokes.
you see in the faces,
the eyes,
the muscled arms and veins.
joy and anguish.
stories
told.
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