... never mind, I don't think that is possible if memory of their purpose proves correct.
They sit like little neon tadpoles surfaced on a pond; the green and pink highlighters, playful and young!
Near them the separated mouth, the silk cavern with teeth; the pencil case, the holder of all, its keeps
the little red heart, with it edges rounded so, what does mean, when the heart eraser is not clean!
Near these specimens lives the water tower. Shiny blue metal surface reflects me in my thirst, If only it were bigger, for last night I was at my worst!
East of this is my feminine marker, for which lady is allowed into the day without brushing her hair before and after?
Before all of these, the things I need to throw out, the scraps of a paper cutting session, a used tooth flossing spear lying in succession.
Then the tools of my trade! how grand the sit! The noble pencil, forever in my kit!
The regal inks from lands afar, scarlet and onyx , with myrrh they are on par.
And then it is only a brief tarry, with that little circle of bondage that all women carry, before our journey takes us to me.
What giant arms and giant hands! working back and forth, quick as they can
Across a sea of plastic keys pressing and hitting, what a violent deed!
What drive the gargantuan arms! Why do they work so restlessly on those tiny keys?
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