Sitting in a hall like a closet
wanting massive amounts of chocolate

we got new art
some of it bought some of it loaned
most of it imagined and stuck in my head, never to come out.

Islands with brown doors in the clouds.
Sad clowns short on the rent
Silly fools stuffed with Crepes

And you.

You are stuck in my head. You are Art.

You may have been birthed - expressed and created sometime in this life.

Though, more likely...
Your iterations colourations and manifestations may be cooking in the crockpot of my process with little hope of being served anytime soon.
It's not a bad thing.

But you are in here.