Icarus flew too close to the sun.
While Salinger colored it, shades of rye.
Eco-systems, both great and small.
Ruptured in the blink of an eye.
Gehry imagined titanium gills.
And Frida, a car crash of vibrant red.
Basquiat, graffiti for the soul.
And I, charcoals bled.
Everything is illuminated.
For our viewing pleasure.
# transmission ends #