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Charcoal Ink
December 22, 2011
Charcoal
Dark as Demon thoughts
Over the passage of time
A shadow of illusions
Smudged upon this rhyme.
What power have I
Before my butt has gone?
Set me to a canvas
Smear my soul to your own con.
Ink
Flowing from feather to
Parchment words scratched out
Blotted here on this desk
Where mind would have me.
Never changing permanence
Invokes my soul,
Corset holds all lumps within,
From this plume I flow.
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