Canvas Man, Canvas Man, where art you. Your’re there in a room with four oranged colored walls imbedded in journals and books of files, pictures, mock-ups, drawings and stories waiting to explode. You have seeped out as a pulled together doll. What will your drawer do with you? You want to come out so bad. You look hurt down below, on the floor, propped. The kitten attacks you and plays with your hands and legs. You can’t react, you can’t fight, you can’t even speak. Yet, you have that set smirk, smile that says, ‘I’m Fine.’
Canvas Man
Canvas Man, propped and ready for his cameo