Boomerangs

Absolute
is the silence of a canvas.

Each stain of colour
is a game of boomerang
in eternal blank,
in the turn that splits
indefinite, to dimension,
zero,
to degrees.

World wheels upon the returns of boomerangs,
on the nod of paintbrushes to colours.

Life is rounded, time is rounded,
globs and clocks…

Life is an island
of taint in blank,

a tint of fraction
on the windshield of perfection.