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.

02/22/2017

Posted on 03/15/2017
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