Greasy charcoal crayon rendering depth on a page.
Pulling form from the invisible event horizon.
Coaxing details into existence.
Something from nothing.
A shuffling of dried and smudged papers,
Some within an oblong carrying case.
All but that one picture;
The one with spilled coffee and rings.
My secret being: that was the absolute best I could have ever done.
But, artistic propriety doesn’t allow viewing.
People might mistake my intention,
And we can’t have that.
Even in art.