Addicted to the ink: that consumes the aroma of poetic potency
surrounding my anatomy, i-ronically documenting
life history trying to avoid becoming another long
lost mystery sucked into the suction of the blackhoe's
abyss;
Addicted to the fumes of hot ink: weather print or script,
one sniff and my hand begins
to nervously twitch until it locates
the perfect instrument to illustrate
my emotional mindstate
elevating to a far away place
beyond earth and space;
Addicted to the sound of smoking ink: on blank pads
exposing friends from foes,
rookies from pros,
and herracks from dro;
Addicted to the stroke of my ink: dispenser
documenting the evidence
of things not visually seen;
