Vain and fraudulent pen
Whose tip I’d rather trail along a spine
Than o’er a page
Can we make no hope of this?
Where is the holy fool you drew so well?
Coax it out
And with it any last true thing.
Can you find not one more worthy drop
Inside these puckered veins?
Dig deeper.
And if you come up empty,
Vain and fraudulent pen,
Lie till I believe
You can make of me
Something better than I am.
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