by Richard Vince

For me, plastic and glass are
Insulators, keeping the sparks
From leaving my soul via
My fingertips.

Perhaps, then, ink is a
Semiconductor: a carrier of
Electricity when my heart
Has the heat to make it flow;
Hiding its magic from others
Behind a dull exterior.

Mechanical means can only
Give a body to the soul
That must originate in ink,
Tattooed on the second skin
I have long carried in my pocket.

There is a forest I have used
To paper over the cracks
In my life, held in place by
Strands of my soul spun
In careless cursive.

All appears static when it is
Anything but: this conduction
Is what has kept me insulated
From the worst of the world;
These sparks have kept my
Tired heart beating;
This iridescence has illuminated
Even the darkest of corners.


Posted on 03/15/2017
Copyright © 2018 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 03/17/17 at 06:35 PM

Excellent Richard, I really like this! As much as I think we are all trying to somehow reach others via our poetry one always wonders if they really do. To some degree I guess that these little notes from others on this site mean something.

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