I find a comfort in my pencil
pointed at the paper below me,
and I find solidarity in the lines
that rubber band themselves after me.

A blazing trail of fine red graphite,
leaving fire in its wake:
the setting sun just a breath away
and the rising stars above me.

Up we float, up we go
to where? Well,
who knows where?
To heaven for art

Or hell for the damned,
I wonder where my blood will lead me next…
the art studio
the bathroom

The ocean,
deep blue and dark,
the sky,
light blue and bright…

I find a comfort in my pencil
pointed at my enemy’s throat;
and I find solidarity in the lines
That draw themselves after me.