broken pencil psalm

By this, the thing. Is this a thing?

The pencil working— keep it on the road.

Passing on the left, the truck beside me didn’t see us—

down into a ditch, at 50,

a dumbass in an old Toyota.

My nephew and niece— scarred for life.

Riding alongside— not the last time.

What a goddamned scary ass ride.

I was 16 when we nearly wrecked—

half a century younger now,

we toast what we survived.

I’ll see the family in June—

toasting our survival yet again.

LIBBY, MONTANA 1993

✦ APRIL 13, 2026 — 10:02 PM ✦

The economy—

a pencil, once broken, set right enough to write.

Rotring 600, .5 mm—

beak bent—

machined lead through a 1.3 mm bend—

2B—

O frondens virga from a scratched iPhone 16—

the feat—

single bound, and leap—

over buildings,

bombs on our enemies.

This is that—

[undetermined] sound.

—

How honest can you be with yourself?

—

The virus excusing—

impediments, indiscriminate—

we use the model to contain it.

What a wild joke— to demonize the help.