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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
| The pencil knows the story, flips when my redacting head repels her graphite. This heat of my friction reduces to rubble each errant word scrubbed from start to nearly every never finish. Well-worn sheets wadded, sent away from our station. My round torso reduces as pencil sharpens, honed to a fresh edge. I wait, worry when my rubber strikes cemented words, harder, deeper, severs a thin page, worthless. Half-life for me. Pencil pens on. Writer pauses plenty, talks aloud to muses and gods. Pencil gets her ear; I get a stubborn head, tenderly rub temper, the temporal aching. Pencil knows his fiction. I’m just friction — an abrasive unknowingly lending to story. As heat, I’m rubber and glue, sticky enough to grab graphite particles, bond the small pieces collected, sent away by smooth stroke of writer’s hand to live in a wooly, divided land. Combined, we settle on carpet, regale dust mites of lessons from a tangled mind spinning yarn after yarn and the truth left behind. Erasable jottings, reformed, live in a dry, decaying land. Beware of the vacuum — our rebuilt graphs are not ready for space, traveling from bag to bin to sodden land. 6.10.22 28 lines, free verse 213 words Legit writ today in acknowledgement of: "The Bard's Hall Contest"  Prompted by "Personify Writing Contest-CLOSED" Personify an eraser for June |
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