Almost Dead Pens

All these pens are almost dead
and I can’t tell which ones will make it to
the end of this poem.

I pick one
and write faster.

Waiting on a line that doesn’t finish
waiting for a dead end
gripped by

Because I know myself
I know that if this pen dies
I won’t finish this poem
I won’t retrace these steps
and re-run the right tool over thoughts
that broke for a hole in my mind
like prisoners in an escape attempt.

It looks though
like we all made it
poems, poets, and prisoners all.

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