Writing is writhing of the soul
On the swaddling clothes
Of the papyrus scrolls
And lies in ambush for another stall.
Writing is
Bloodletting
To purge the beast of
Some uncanny possession.
Writing is compromising
With what puzzles the nerves
It is transmigration
of the spirit to carbon stains
Writing combines
The whimper of death
With
The buzz of birth
The quill spills fire
To suckle the bold
And the flimsy flies
Flee from the udder
Writing lets loose
A million fireflies
To the murky nights,
That they call 'tomorrow'.
On the swaddling clothes
Of the papyrus scrolls
And lies in ambush for another stall.
Writing is
Bloodletting
To purge the beast of
Some uncanny possession.
Writing is compromising
With what puzzles the nerves
It is transmigration
of the spirit to carbon stains
Writing combines
The whimper of death
With
The buzz of birth
The quill spills fire
To suckle the bold
And the flimsy flies
Flee from the udder
Writing lets loose
A million fireflies
To the murky nights,
That they call 'tomorrow'.
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