Idle Pencilstein

This was an exercise in "write about whatever the hell is on your desk." So I did. I have an old beer stein full of pencils, pens, and conspicuous looking paperclips that become little soldiers at night try to drain my brain through holes in my

The tankard on my desk stems go-betweens

Across the fissures of reality

Its place is elsewhere, and behind the times

But it’s poignant and vision flirts with it.

 

Dull gleam reflects shadows

Crouching ahead in time;

Cower backward, its sheen

 

Understands the inventive lack brimming over

A relic of youth, though an instance of ripeness;

A void tink as the mug reaches bare, distinguished

Yet scary. The muse is trapped indefinitely.

 

 

Author's Note

Lacking, I know.