Inscribed

I went to a writer's conference 

and picked up a gold-bronze pencil (round)

"This pencil has the capacity to write 

45,000 words and so do you."

I keep grinding that stalk while watering

the point (figuratively) remaining 

within me. My work embeds shirking 

all else, the intellectual odd jobs 

flowing in and prevailing

around the machine (metallic and hard)

containing tangible assets as 

proof of importance but consistently 

less than what I live to perform as inscribed

on the steady wood from incense-cedar

reliable as the implements at 

my desk that bespeaks my future value (see).