every pencil is poised
positioned to shade in the bubbles of absence
which shape the page and trip up the feet in
the glass encased culture
gray graphite marks our days and years
every hour an arc of time
filled with squiggles or heavy thick lines
dominating the whiteness
until I see the sharpened orange dart
lying at an angle on the beige tile
under black chairs in an empty room
pointing towards the door
I pick it up
place it in the mug
and escape
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