Stolen pencil, this poets utensil.
A tax refunded bit of loot.
When I was younger, I wouldn't have given a hoot.
Just how pathetic can one soul be?
Can't even afford a sliver of a tree.
Well if redemption can be written.
This is my offing that I'm remittn'.
It raises questions of what to do.
Degrees of sin in me and you.
I clip my nails in a stolen ashtray.
I've done it for years, what more can I say.
Repudiation for such a minor act.
No one spends much time on such thoughtless tact.
Pay it forward and steal it blind.
Just a little guilt to ease the mind.