A small square held flat,
while a needle pierces at,
the spaces between.


Potter’s Wheel

Spinning around,
drops of water flying,
clay just, everywhere,

It’s a wonder then,
that something useful,
ever could be made there.


The orange pencil traces
the fireworks     arcing
through my chest cavity
The chocolate pencil follows the warp
of the girders’ structure
keeping my skin from collapsing
my lungs
because the silver-blue pencil of my skin
is sparking like an electric unicorn

Don’t touch me – I am a pencil
not finished drawing