ON HOW I AM LIKE A PENCIL

I write one side and on the other I am erased.

**
Pain makes me sharper.

**
Concealed, thinner than thin, a silvery thread
of lead runs through me, innersecret.

**
Even if I break into a thousand times myself
there will still be an end that continues to
write.

**
I feel fingers
tightening on
my throat.

**
Where do they end?
Where do I
begin?

על נקודות הדמיון ביני לבין העיפרון

על נקודות הדמיון ביני לבין העיפרון