A futile pen, mortally wounded
By the razor hands of a leering clock
Lies bleeding;
Staining irrevcocably
The snow-white side-ruled shroud
That once was hunger's meal;
Casting low, long shadows
Over unborn, nonexistent lines.
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This is the copyrighted title for the book I will eventually publish - if I have to handwrite it myself. But this piece may not be in it. Not real satisfied with it.
