I write when I'm happy
I write when I'm sad
I scribble when I am miserable and am flowery when I'm glad.

I write through the sharpening of pencils in the night and I blunt several visions,even then it may not come out right and so I blunt some more.
I write upon the bathroom walls,paint words across the door
I wish this house was bigger, then I'd write even more.
It makes my fingers sore to hold the pencil so but I must move in rhythm to where the words would like to go,
and go they must
before I crumble like the dust that drifts out from the cracking walls.

Daybreak calls me,
to put my pencils to one side,
I hide my ears under an old grey hat,can't be listening to none o' that
my lead is leaking from the pencil point.the point being
I am seeing words that line up one by one and when they've marched off,gone,
I shall pencil on and on.
No eraser or erasure
though to be sure some sentences are so obscure in meaning
with meanings that could only seem to be a meaning incomplete to me
I complete them anyway
and some nights I write through the day as well
my life is light and dark
a pencil park
a stop and slide
a ride across the graphite trail
at snails pace.