title: my evening - instead of an essay on context.

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A brush with inspiration
Gives away to drawn out thought
Wherein careful calculation
Precedes over what ought

A collection of anxieties,
Kept in case of an emergency,
Emerge as quiet cautious strokes
Begin to justify their apathy

A hand blurs beneath the rush,
Tracing smaller all that comes
Until the world is little enough
To sit above, and command my arms

From there it whispers,
Almost in whimpers,
That it’s too much mine
To be anyone else’s –

All my works are a stencil
Only sharp through a lens
I blame the blunt of the pencil
And leave pretence to make amends