his sketches of the blue coastlines
was like a disaster film
done on a none indie budget
in miniature.

his sketches of the coastlines
contained a mood
like an acoustic
version of autumn
stripped back
so the leaves were only
half dead and the branches
half mangled.

his sketches, so pure and
blind it was obvious
he had nothing
but this attempt at art
to keep him sane.

every jot and scribble, a glimpse
of desperation
the slow peel sound
of standard madness