And you are why I write
My pen ink-poison dipped
Unsettling, hopeless sight.
May muses thus be gripped,
Transfixed as blood flows out
Where wing-like pen was clipped.
And may I never doubt
The force of pouring ink
To ease the come-about
Of everything I think
On paper, writ in blood
Like my own grail to drink.
In pain and purpose, poisoned on page
To bear my words out from where they're caged.
postscript
Day twelve of A diciotto.