In all its might
Leading me lopsided across broken glass and blood
through the pin of a pen, black and blue.
Just this small future, this life.
Just out of sight
Giving me dreams like colors to a blind,
Through the silk of a thread out of ink,
Trickling, trimming the Horrible and the Wonderful,
Some life. This life.
Within my flight
The scribbling and scrabbling across walls and tablecloths,
Stains of soft rain on grass, blots on white sheets,
Expecting my reply.
Just this. Just this
© October 2014