My mechanical pencil draws the pictures,
Not my hand;
I don't know how it does it,
But it's more talented than I am.
It will draw you a sqiggle.
It will draw you a dot.
It will draw you a circle,
Or any what-not.
Yes, the pencil is in my hand,
And the picture is in my head,
But my mechanical pencil does all of the work,
I just feed the lead.

02/15/2011

Author's Note: This should not be my first post. The first poem I submitted was an untitled piece that is now my second post (untitled 1). I guess you can't apply with untitled works, but it is my believe that a title only implies that a poem is finished. Occasionally I consider myself some sort of word-smith creating works of articulated art, and it is hard to label them done. My creations are on going, contstantly growing, and open to interpretation. (Besides, labels are for soup cans and lovers)

Posted on 02/15/2011
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