Pencil –

Split my veins

Sing my pain in red

little stitches – a

criss-crossed road on

my thump-thump engine.


Pencil –

Strike my eyes

Be my guide

instead – your prayers bright

as stars lighting up my valley

of scars making them ripple

like the milky way.


Pencil –

Take my fingers

Lace them with your

singers of faraway secrets

and dreams I’ve not yet met

and told to hold and hold.


Pencil –

Love me and my hollowness

For I may yet be rescued

from my restlessness

Show me your land where

bones don’t ache

and hearts don’t tire –

I have only my fire

to give

Pencil –

Show me how to live.


You’ve always got the look

of an outsider on your face

A burnt stump in an open sky of sand

Your smile a curve of a forgotten road

Your eyes a frosted windowpane

– always the outside, the outside

You live your second-hand life

– retold, missed, compared,

painted pink and gold

Your friends are but canvas

and oil on hushed walls

Your songs a funeral prayer

And you may shed your hair,

your clothes, curve your tongue,

your back, bend your knees

But I see – still – the desert of your face

that lost look, that lone stump –

a shadow travels on the waves of sand