Stubby Brown Pencil.
The stubby brown pencil
Will it make some marks?
On the white blank sheet spread
Where thoughts can be stored
To ponder over backwards
Amid avalanches of motives
Often habitually sliding
In moods of darker futility.
Finding solace in crumpled sheets
In foils of curtain hung around
The window that helps to preview
Some dimensions beyond the
Stagnant waters of the constants.
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