This paper blotted up these scratchings of wet ink,
made fresh thought dry skeleton itching for flesh,
absorbed my futile plots of new creation,
bound up all the meaning in latticelike letters,
made hope look trivial.

Come, you ghost,
whose step sinks deep into the earth of me,
leave your mark indelibly in my words,
make these bones live,
make this tongue,
in ink,
sing fire.

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One Comment on “Blotter”

  1. Eric Alagan Says:

    “…dry skeleton itching for flesh…”

    What a unique and creative approach. Love this poem, Eric 🙂

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