i am lucky to be smarter than myself
and to know myself well enough to have packed a
pencil
as she wouldn't share with me and let me into her world
with her soft doggy eared noises that float from her earbuds into a sea
(the lurch the rumble we come overground)
artsiness comes in mysteriousness
like the figure who stares out the window at eleven at night
into the lights of the near far city
even if its only the home depot and the ugly building starbrights
and the windows where people live their lives for everyone
who is curious enough to see
doodling is my passion
more than anything else
and the curve of that lightning bolt is not quite sharp enough
(erase)
it is still not right
(erase)
and now for the stairs
and the trickling patterns
and the fall down words from the tip of my mind
to the number two lead
in my cut and bruised fingers
to lose myself in pencil scratchings
and someone else to notice
to care about my wrath
and one i hadn't even expected
to surprise
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