I am from withered grass,
From massive mountains and gravel stones
I am from fields of blooming buttercups
(soft petals
brushing on knees)
I’m from the Deep Ditch,
Sweet honeysuckle and bold brew.
From the scorching sand
          Blinding my begetter,
The tank that took him away.
I’m from the optimistic
and the intoxicated 
From “I know right?” and “Only had one”.
I’m from Bristol and blended graphite
coloured Canson Canvas,
Dark blue ballpoint pens
I’m from dispersed markers and brushes
Acrylics and oils
The shavings of coloured pencils
Litter the studio floors
Kneaded erasers lay forgotten and stiff
Hard from being unused
(cold and grey,
covered in graphite)
On the walls hang faded frames
Pictures old ‘n yellow
Faces I’ve never known,
Haunting visages of the void.
I am from disembodied memories-
Demonized defect no one dares denounce