Bloodink, Soulwords

Poets write away their souls in blood.

Deep, inky dark blood –

a continual letting of excess sensation.

It’s a crude treatment,

but it serves to keep our hearts from bursting

and overflowing into insanity.

Ink is blood is soul is thought is emotion is

love is the world is stars is pain is me is mine is mine…

Don’t ask me for sanity.

From the daily tug of duty and “should”

to my magnetic, cell-deep need for words

and for touch,

I am the tempestuous stallion,

flayed out, immobile, by a hundred different ropes.

I cannot run –

the only way to stave off insanity is through

precious glittering knowing blossoming words…

Words and touch. My refuges.