In a world where words,
Were all I had,
I wrote on any canvas,
I could get my hands on,
Egg - white walls,
Coffee stained napkins,
Blank grey,
Columns in newspapers,
With temporarily stolen,
Pens, pencils, sometimes crayons,
From counters of gas stations,
And apron pockets of kind cafe waitresses.
- Could I borrow a pen, please?