All ensnared in the painting,
nothing planned
with all the colours.
What will she do with them
when the time comes?
Take a plaster model
and throw it at the wall,
to demolish all the claims
she had to creation.
Forging on, floating away.
Takes a short fuse 
to walk elusive,
to tread water with propulsive 
strength (and not let on at all...)
Oh, how this falls flat.
Deaf ears don't talk back.