A painting fell off my wall.
I put it up with tape.
no nail.
Only adhesive…
so the fall came as no surprise.
It was a beautiful print.
So not truly a painting at all.
But a print of a painting.
My copy that I was free to hang with tape.

The tape was good tape.
It held for months.
But now.
With time.
The print is lying face down.
The artist's idea... face down on the ground.

I have not chosen to make amends.
I am passively enjoying the wall.
The absence of color.
The absence of everything..

I try to remember the print.
But my memory fails.

Without true choice.
That print fell.
The print of a painting.
The print that was mine.
The print that gave me pleasure taped to my wall.

I wish it hadn’t fallen like that.
I wish I had chosen to take it down.
So I leave it on the floor.
As things made it be.

where's your girl?