dark 3. mechanical pencil

I am not an island

I am waiting to fall into orbit

I will fall down to earth

And ocean drown this fire out

My mechanical pencils

Trace dulling senses

Boiling down everything

I've no hope to express

And I frame my mind

In dark ink and lead

Lines of fire running

Through my hollow head

I am not an island

I am risen from the cold

I will part these lonely waters

And rest in depths untold

White fire, sleeping waves

Silver eyes and ragged glow

Oil fires on the seashore

The blowing salt and smoke

Branches and lines

From death down to life

The kingdom grows bright

On a life's empty highs

I am not an island

I can find no archipelago

I am long fled from land

And long used to writing

With trembling hands.