The following is a poem from the point of view of Pablo Picasso, about a staircase handrail, had he once, in a drunken half asleep dream state, thought it to actually be a sea-lion that had climbed the stairs at his sea-side villa, where he was staying hoping to paint some landscapes, failing to predict inclement weather keeping him indoors, that the villa he rented would come well stocked with help yourself wine, that there would be noisy sea mammals living within steps of the properties boundaries, that when he was not painting as much as usual his always imaginative soul would run wild and manifest itself in alternative outlets, and that having mistaken the handrail for a sea-lion, he had avoided reaching out for it, fearing sea-lion saliva, and as a result had fallen down the stairs:
It was just the handrail
Best not tell anyone about this
That was a poem from the point of view of Pablo Picasso, written as if an embarrassing event had taken place in his life, that he wished people not know about, so in attempt to clear it from his sub-conscious had written it into beautiful verse, as always circumnavigating the typical rules and barriers that often suppressed the natural artistic outpouring of his contemptories, and instead creating in some ways a crude, yet colorful and vibrant, representation of his muse, in this case being the fact he felt like a pussy for being scared of sea-lion saliva, which obviously turned out to be a lush source of inspiration. Although of course he didn't want anyone to know about it, so yeah, shhhh.
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