Hatching and shading,
Erasing false lines,
Erase Erase Erase Erase,
Swipe off that mess-
Pencil scratches against thick paper,
I sit and draw even though I should be listening,
taking notes, finishing my work,
but wait, I never finished this sketch of a lion,
that's much more important...
Isn't it?

With a pen, I have the world,
With a pen, color rises and whirls.

With a pen, I can draw fantastical things,
With a pen, imagination stretches vast wings.

With a pen, language takes hold,
With a pen, the story is bold.

With a pen, I can write many letters,
With a pen, my voice is unfettered.

And with a pen, I can make a 'me',
With a pen, I can see all that will be.

shade shadows
of dark skin
head neck
chest hips

darken rolls
of stomach flesh
blow away
charcoal dust

curve calf
over seat
blend fold
of white sheets

steady hands
sketch toes
crescent nails
foreshorten soles

erase

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day
Or something less written and more expressed
To something less expressed and more instinct
To what the hopeful oil feels as it burns bright?
What atom makes you? What worker formed you?
What factory sent bone chalk, called it art
Without mentioning it is mere carbon
Tints and inks of filthy purpose, broken shells?
No, I won't compare thee to the words used
To call pomp, genius, hope and meaning
I can't use symbols, smudges have more thought
In what you are, in what nature hopes of you
Only the woven mist can explain clouds
As only the pencil can explain you

Her messy hands make magic pencil
Like holy Gods make worlds
And I know she will someday draw my universe--
My universe
All stars and no suns,
Always so far-- too far
Too cold
My cold hands on her warm chest
Cold hands, warm heart
But my love keeps me warm
Warmer than goose-down coats and wool socks
So much static
So much friction
So many sparks--electricity, zapping
And I am patchwork-quilted memories in her creators' hands

Condensation drawing,
On mirror, one morning,
What I saw, blew mind
Made me turn, look behind

There stood, with a knife
At the throat, of wife
Her screams, all could hear
My heart, burst with fear

With panic, in my chest
Took swing, for the best
caught hard, in the face
Knife dropped, grasp, race

Me first, knife, mess
Him blood, life less
Wife safe, me shocked
Bathroom exit, door locked

An eraser
goes through its life
caring about all the tiny details
but not about itself.
it degrades itself trying
to fix others mistakes
until suddenly
it’s gone.

it knows it’s dying,
it know it,
and it doesn’t care.
it cares too much about other people
to care about itself.

Some people say an eraser
would be a model human.
i don’t.

If everyone was like an eraser,
if everyone cared about others
just a little too much,
how would life work?

People would degrade
just like the eraser,
not caring
about themselves.

an eraser plays an important role in art.
so it does.
you can care about other people,
but don't
not care about yourself.
do not be an eraser,
you need loved too.

This wall is for drawing
No writing allowed
No tags from the gangs
That wander this town

No poems, graffiti
Just sketching is all
Poorly drawn things are
Erased from this wall

The art of a child’s
An ugly scrawl
No verbal expression
Be glad you may draw

This wall shall become
A great work of art
But none of these drawings
Will come from the heart

In brittle dark
I’m shedding body on your canvas
leaving flesh in strokes of boldness;
arms are warm,
your thighs are hotter from us, burning,
as friction seals the picture
of sparks embracing ashes
painting lust
reforging Us

When I draw you
It's not as if I use lines
A dusty black to suggest you
My pencil doesn't touch the paper
Not really
I'm not really showing you to others
And I'm not pushing your face out
But just touching it,
Just feeling it once more
Through an extended wooden finger

I'm not here to tell you
Your nose could be prettier
Your eyes straighter
Your hair more flirtatious
I'm not here for them and
I'm barely here to draw
I just want to feel you, is
That so bad?

But you seem to lose me
As I bait graphite
And plunge it in after you
What the paper reflects, like water
You're warped and don't quite grip me
Though I'd pull you out
Like an arm to the drowning I'd be there
If you'd only let me
Gloomy, I retire for the day

I can only assume
While I leave and sleep away
You come out, like the moon at night
And stretch anxiously out
In darkness
And assured solitude
You look for me
And as I'm gone you
Are quite happy to
Put your hand out finally from what I looked in
And as I'm gone
Gently feel where I threw my pencil
Softly touch the dent in the table
Where my elbow leaned me in, desperate
You come out perhaps to trace my outline
In what I left for you
And maybe
Give sensing me some time
With an outstretched finger
And a hopeful mouth
Ready, waiting
Till we can speak again.