Tool & Shade
“Every tool has two ends, one working on the material,
the other on the man.” –John Halsham, 1907
A brush of two minds still
comes to one point.
I pick it up in the big windowed room.
Light for these artists, though
imagine dark here. Imagine how
and because and no matter: you draw
yourself drawing.
Philosophers drink coffee to spin
their webs. Someone else poured that cup
and drove to work late.
A glass pot with its fake silver band could mean
minimum wage, the steam
a sting that she parked wrong, in a hurry
and keeps thinking about the ticket. Heavy,
holding that thing up.
In studio, the sound
of a brush, a conte crayon, a pencil
losing something. Fifteen whish whishings
make the quiet
more quiet. It goes on
a long time, a near
nothing at all, a passing, until the ends—
who cares about ends. I was drawing, wasn’t I?
A shape, weird
hurtling up through the paper.
