Paradise Lost

I first drew the outline of myself in black, then

burnt-sienna once the last lil nub melted

between thumbnail and looseleaf

folded hamburger style.

I traced twilights whose edges

contrast too abruptly unless you

smudge turquoise into tickle-me

with torn wrapper paper;

no waste, it must be shorn to freshly hone

those waxen points regardless.

Familiar souls were thus rubbed out.

The abbreviated remainder paint surreally in memoriam:

g-blue, denrod, rnflower, berwolf, nd cheese, ulean.

Now life writes regularly as penclicks, with deep inkwells,

one long word in cursive like babelization.

There is ample opportunity for shading and a need for

full precision, but where has the color gone?

In full darkness some thieve, ravage it,

snatch at our humanity, our slight differentiations,

scribble over our design with ants' fury.

Ballpoint renders us, coerces delineation,

tattoos us illegible.

Vital shades yet refresh me.

Beneath their cool graffiti

skin replenishes, tissues soften;

remnant innocence dulled too often.