If a tree is cut down and paper or pencil made, and I then write with them?
If you were a tree
would you be my pencil?
my blank page?
my unblank page?
If you were a tree would you be the page preserved in an archive, its climate controlled with combustion, the burning of ferny compression we call fossil fuels?
Would you be my paper, my pencil, preserved?
A tree would prefer I crumple this page, throw pencil away.
Better yet, would I please bury both in dirt?
When I fall something shoot its pale cusp from the trunk that was me.
Come back wild moment from far before
I took up my sword call it pencil say paper or page.
Killing impulse, I took up pencil and page.
I ruined everything.