blot

starry night
at the end of the line

i dip my pen, it ripens,
rips the vein, and drips the
words out painfully

it goes no further

i row along the ink river,
farther than the last time

it's about time to sleep,
i think, but i blink out tears
faster than i can write
about them

the rose-dyed moon paints
a starry night of black blots—
a reverse cosmos
to leap into

but i might smudge the letters
on the way down

+Translations

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