One more crumpled mess- tangible token of

Rejected imperfection, placed strategically

To remind me that caffeine and loud music

Do not make an artist. I touch the page

Still feeling the breathe, the pulse of a

Masterpiece waiting to be born.


My pencil hovers pregnant with my dreams.

The music separates me from the chattel of the world.

I wrangle my thoughts, prepare them, align them

To trample orderly onto the page.

Crescendo, my pencil now a frenzy to

Lead the images into a recognizable form.

I stop in the silence of my mind.

I admire the view. I tip my hat to the

Creation before me.