1.

Dragging down the page
and drawing a line. The tears
smudge the lead and bring
a shade of grey, both on the page

and off it. Your hands. It’s as though the
emotions you spewed were scrambling
to return back home; to the safety
of your shell, away from the light.

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2.

Life is a game
of chance. You
don’t know if your
paper has the

black dot, but you
draw still. Draw
onwards, draw on
words. Draw on all

you’ve got and they’ve
got and you’re just got
to draw your lots. And
there are a lot of lots.

drawing on all your strength
and all your knowledge and
all your lucky stars you pray to
see nothing but blank.

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3.

With drawing
I fashioned an enclave
for me myself and I;
within dependent

lines the shades
of the sketch stretch
infinitely, like the
irises of a heartbroken child.

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