This is the end of my thumb
A pen run dry the ink feels numb
Its written books on thinner mirrors
Cobalt patterns smooth the errors

Hops from spots to spots
Sturdier that eyes with dots
No warmth to refill this pen
It leaves along with days that end

An igloo at the equator
Forced within refrigerator
Water bottle filled to its top
No cap on top to let it drop

My thumb envies daggers as it fades
A spaceship top in black it craves
Here is the end of my thumb
My mouth must speak of times, I know