she immobilized the world when she put it in her canvas;
the washedout streets and the hopeless birds pinned
to a cloudless sky above a lonely tree besides an isolated
hill that went down instead of rising up, divulged the
verisimilitude and threw home into a void of black
that should have screamed blood red.
she talked of fauvism, linked it to the curtains against the stars
tonight and the line of water from the faucet to the basin,
red, then purple, and finally black as they synthesized
the juncture of her caliber and the staggered mosaic,
once a picture, then a puzzle and today the way-out
vision in the splintered mirror.
Explanation
Wassily Kandinsky; "Improvisation. Gorge."

(gasp)
Cheeseballs, I was almost frightened by your superiority in poetry to me. My mind is blown.