A sharpener ate all my pencils,
threw up rubber eraser
all over the floor. 
This was an accident, just an accident. 
Where was my pen? 

You would think they would soar,
planes across paper,
sketching horizon in the sky.  
No, they plummet, bounded
by the lead which drops them.  

The time was late afternoon,
I grabbed the last batch
of those Eagle pencils from the drawer. 
If the lead always took off when I sharpened,
how was I supposed to fly? 

I recall war,
building names were respectively erased
by Brigadier General Charles W. Sweeney
of the 393^rd Bombardment Squad.  
A brief summary of facts was unavailable at the site. 
Cause of incident?  No pens.

Flight is improvisation. 
The pen is a golden saxophone,
replacing smoky silence with laughter. 
Eagle pencils are broken stubs,
with perfect strings—they spell out disaster. 
In quiet Nagasaki, the survivors heard terrible jazz. 

They questioned, “How could a just god allow this?”
I answered, “God used a pen to write the world. 
People used Eagles to nuke it.”

Currently Listening Viva La Vida By Coldplay see related

I have been working a buttload at this summer camp.  There is plenty of manual labor (refreshing, in my opinion) and plenty of intriguing people from different backgrounds.  The idea that we can work together to make camp happen is compelling—diversity is beautiful. 

Now for what we actually do.  We clean the pool together, scrubbing the sides to get rid of black algae.  We clean out the skimmers, this includes throwing out some frogs.  We check the chlorine levels, the pH, hardness, alkalinity... all the chemistry I didn't do in high school.  Also, we had to restock the snack shop, so we drove all the way to this warehouse to pick them up.  Those drinks were really heavy.  At times, I would just ride on the back of the truck and survey the scenery.  The wind nestling in my hair.  The sun beating at my neck.  The birds chirping away my restless soul.  Covington is so beautiful—I had no idea that I could catch a glimpse of paradise in my own backyard.

I think I’m going to receive my archery certification this Tuesday.  Man, the string kept hitting my arm every time I shot an arrow—I have this huge bruise as evidence.  Still, I hit bullseye(sp?) a couple of times.  Oh and, I also shot a gun for the first time in my life, a 12 gauge Berreta shotgun.  I hit four out of eight of these flying clay discs.  Heck yes, Peter’s going back to his roots. 

These past two weeks were just training and orientation, but this week starts my first week of camp.  I don’t know if I’m ready to be a good influence, nor do I know what that means, but I will try my very best for the sake of the children.