an uncapped pen,
naked lines under my hand --
slight unsettling of sediment,
a dirty quickening in lightless depths.
Words used to writhe,
and noisy in my veins,
scraping against capillary entrapment with their pointy-edged letters
into my brain (shoving aside experience-thought)
with no hesitation
-- and no struggle.
now they're so few and weak and slow,
they barely tickle with their pushing
(when they manage the motivation to shift at all)
I'll feed them with unfettered thought
and lure them
with ink slipping sweet into paper --
once more my blood will excite, incite, entice,
and they'll breed until I teem,
and stroking my heart to skipping.