because selfishly,
i want nothing -
it's all i can handle -
but i have to whip up something
for you
well, i'd take invincible wrists,
or to find what i lost, this time,
all that stuff
like a pencil
never dulling or
never losing
its broad stroke, depending,
neither too sharp on one side nor enough the other
no need to whittle, turn, sand
the solid sea, that pencil,
would never make a mark
no, a pencil is like this:
slicing bread
right on the counter
i fry falafel
topless