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Stub

by Kevin T. McEneaney
Tue Aug 1st, 2017

A drab tooth-bitten pencil with

its innumerable shadows and wayward squiggles

lolls between my blunt thumb

and elegant middle finger

like a scalpel ready to open up

fissures in language,

heal guttural cancers,

scramble chiaroscuro vowels

in assonantal ambiance

or detonate clotted plosives--

string out a solid line

connecting birds with clouds

that I eat as I carelessly scribble

impulses riding the current of emotion

throbbing through my seismic hand.

 

The pencil:a  thing of wonder

more magnificent than

the Empire State Building

impressing its outline

on the collective imagination:

you can waggle it

at any time

day or night!