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Pencils

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i sat down to write a poem about feeling dull but couldn’t get my mind sharp enough to get past everything obvious, like the metamorphosis of pencils. so i said fuck it, i took out a piece of paper and drew a circle over and over until the graphite’s breath went from metallic to silken. then i stepped into the circle and thought, i wish everything would just come inside here, this place whose border is so uniform, i know exactly where to begin, where to end: anywhere. i laid there for a while looking around appreciating its stark emptiness and then i stepped out, off the page. i drew oceans and continents on the circle, saw it finally as a sphere, then sharpened my mind on crumpling it up, throwing it away, and starting over; writing a poem about feeling dull.