A poem fires up photoshop. 

It’s often said a poem is a picture — I read madras pea 
Coats — albino kittens hitting crescendos annoying cringing robots. 
Drown me out, speed bags. 
Drown and kiss the cleft, sanguinary as dissolvents — 
Love makes lock up toxic. 

Photoshop that. 
Not a problem.