Pencils.

I'm impulse-sharpening my pencils again. 

Whenever I see a dull point, it must be fixed: 

Then when it's sharp, I have to write with it

But I only type anymore, so I have to draw circles

And eyes and the same face again and again and again

Until the tip of the graphite is not thin enough to trace the dents of his nose-

I then get out the manual pencil sharpener and spin the wooden thing

In circles. I imagine it's dancing. Sometimes its tip gets lost inside

And I have to start again. Then I sharpen another pencil, and another

And it's hard to imagine that I will even someday use all these pencils

Because all I do is type words that no one reads onto a computer

Onto this goddamn website, hoping to make myself feel liked

Hoping to change something by rearranging the same words

Toying with the same idea. Then it's back to drawing the face again, 

Trying to get it perfectly right, until I realize 

It's 7pm, and zero of my one hundred sharpened pencils have done

A single math problem.