The crayon stone (a poem)

Not actually a stone, but a crayon with many colors melted into a stone shape…

I draw with the stone
not knowing what shapes I’m making
—the marks made as if random
a feeble attempt to make art
out of chaos theory

I have control
but not precision
while the stone gradually loses its shape
with each new mark on the page

I cannot recognize myself in these things I make
without words, I am lost

Yet I return to the stone
its menagerie of melted colors
its unpredictability
is the only thing I relate to
as I use it to color my world

(12 July 2015)