Writhing With(in) Ink

This pigment creeps;
It turns my pallid skin into
shades of smudged charcoal,
Breathing Black.
Ink.

I'm sinking in this puddle,
my body a dying star
collapsing in on itself
only to expand again and diffuse
into the universe

I wonder if you notice
the ampersand of my mouth
every breath giving birth
to letters and numbers
forming mushroom clouds
beneath the ceiling--

Each breath is potential
every gaze a new word
melded somewhere between this life
and the unrealized

Cool finger tips caress along
my meridian lines

tracing out the next stanza
of a broken hearted widow
or a school girl named
Jaimie.

I writhe with(in) this ink
like a carbon copy pressed to metal,

the pressure subsides and all that is left
are faded imprints of the original

There's a question mark on my forehead,
it refuses to break loose.

Comments

Anonymous said…

i love your new picture! love your blog. <3

April 27, 2009 at 3:05 PM

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