I'll Huff and I'll Puff and I'll

I.
Eraser spent to the ferrule,
Flat graphite-black
Like grinding teeth, rim scrapes
Sheet, rips, blurs the mark,
Image persistent, a little uglier,
Error slightly more spread out

Onto the next page,
Led to the imprint pressed from the last touch,
False trace, last ditch effort,
Breaks and oh no, slides out,
Rolls off the desk
and onto the floor

This is what it took
to pull the box out,
Pull another out of the box,
Pre-sharpened,
and resume.
...

II.
This is not a suicide,
Or even a wan, divested dress-rehearsal.
It's more like a scribbling,
Down to the quick,
Or a slow repression of
Welcome thoughts.
". . . granted you never sang on key,"
You say that as if you'd heard.
Although destruction is reform's strong arm,
Perfection is incomplete.
Masturbation for a while,
Then a soft rain in the dark.
In the morning, dew on the grass,
Lavish a hazy blue,
Birds trade songs,
and I've forgotten of you.

III.
Cigarette smoke familiar with these yellow walls
Holds its breath til a window -
Sauntering to the radio, a squelching boar
On a limp rustic half round table,
hiss, squeee, thud, just in time for
"We interrupt this broadcast to regrettably inform you
that your life is meaningless; and now, back to the program."
- is raised, gosh it's stuffy in here,
What time is it anyway, quarter to six on a Saturday morning,
and the lights are just starting to go out
In da neighbahoid,
Come on in the city . . .
There's a war on,
I'm lucky enough to barely be able to tell,
"Morning, Sam." "Oh hello... um, Ralph. Have a good day."
and that's good enough, I guess . . .