Pressure Point Poem by nathan martin

i used to break crayan's,
when lines would blur and
scribbles would shift.

now i break pencils

my flint faced ezekiel blackened
toungued tip prophet speaks
in charcoal whispers.

the hapless refining of lead and
fingertips creats the breaking point.

dialect of the curved spine child...

now diadems of scoliosis
form my alphebetical vertebrae.
bent with the beauty of
a slant wrist.

the majestic snapp of a
skillcraft number two pencil,
causes vowel harmonies to break
against phonetic boundries.

breaking pencils like breaking
bread is for the holy and misgiven.