Sunday, May 30, 2010

The Kiln

Her Micron,

a wiggling beige battle standard

zigs and zags

a frantic attack on the last inked tendril

of an eyelash,

corner of the creator’s mouth curled up

in mute concentration,

Sitting across from her,

I feel the backdraft from her hands scrawling,

white hearths in their efforts suddenly

pause to cool as she checks

her Mac screen for reference

giving her black sketchbook

a brief reprieve

before the next incisions

of color spill from her pens onto

the defenseless paper plain.

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