Inkskin


So I sing my inky skin out
until it sloughs,
and a raw red underskin
buds and bursts,
feels baby new
for a shortest while,
then,
despite my wishes,
toughens
snakelike
as a cold new song emits
and hisses,
slithering contentment
across the grasslands
of middle-aged suburbia,
until I shed again
the dulling itch
at the picking up of some future pen.

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36 thoughts on “Inkskin

  1. Love your take of this, song / snake… I must be feeling old tonight as this bit caught my imagination most:
    ‘slithering contentment
    across the grasslands
    of middle-aged suburbia’

    Thanks for sharing 🙂

  2. The cycle of writing…. As a werewolf might go through his change, not necessarily willfully, but succumb to it’s greater power with some pleasure, hide the moment, forget the in-pleasantries surrounding the day and allow this moment to capture your soul in flight…. for it is all, until the next time…… Masterfully written…… and felt…

  3. each word can feel like that at times… as can each year. it is the ability to keep opening ourselves up that keeps us fresh, young, alive.

    loved the visceral feel to this.

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