I awoke
and found I
was, at
last, no
longer a
person, just
a pen—
only,
unfortunately,
not
cinched
calm but
firmly in the
palm
of a very wise
woman or
some
illustrious
man, to write
wrongs
or praise scintillating
dawns in
poems or
earn lots of hard
cash in pop
songs;
but in-
stead stuck
twiddling
around
forever
in the bony
black tyrannical
hands—of an
analog clock.
