Pencil
I am thin.
Leaden, yet light.
I am that fine line on white.
I am zigzag flowering wood that smells of childhood.
Use me, blunt me and make me grow again.
My death in pointed perfection repeated until your fingers can hold me no more.

Chew on me and suck when you think
I taste good.

Scissors
I am a right-handed conspiracy.
An unknown quality.
Iron nailed into an X.
A swooping gull, a mouth
that closes over swift
lines that divide.

Razor
I mark the beginning of knowledge.
Use me
on a body that knows of sin, of hidden
places, of new things.
I harvest hair
I eat skin.

Headphones
I grow out of ears.
Wiring, enlarging
sound. I am the moveable self
ambushed by silence. I engage
with screams.