I have few mugs
Porcelain mugs
All alike, same in color
I pick one and prepare coffee
Cannot distinguish the one used before
All were alike, same in color
I wish to make one my favorite
But any mark I make would be artificial
How I wish? A natural mark would separate one
Today I observed one with a slight difference
A minor crack at the brim
The mugs are washed
A mishandle would have caused
It is not ugly
It is no less useful
Naturally made, just a slight crack
Now both useful and notable
It is now my favorite mug

I sat down – to write.
On a white sheet with graphite.
Behind me a stool.
Enough to raise me – a fool.
Up above a fan.
Soon will suspend a man.
Is that it? I say.
No more a day after today.
The sheet is dry.
And I jot the letter ‘I’
I rehearsed this note.
A thousand times by rote.
Is this how it was to end?
Or this is how it is to end.
This sheet of paper and thyself.
Have traveled separately
To find a purpose on this table.
Was the purpose to write a suicide note?
And then hang self while the note watch me die?
I began to write,
And what I write, I read
And what I read, I begin to like
I befriend the sheet and graphite.
The graphite says, “I won’t give up until you do”
The sheet says, “Neither I until you two.”
And I say, “For you two I will never too.”
I go behind and climb the stool.
Held the blades of the fan and dust them,
Switch on the fan and the blades rotate.
Air fills the room and papers begin to fly.
I smell the air and say,
“My suicide note saved me.”