resin

i'd like to write a feeling out of me
squeeze the nib so tight that ink pours out of me

black blotches spewing
maybe a thousand memories

do the memories control the ink
or does the ink control the memories? -

ebbing, flowing,
growing and sowing
every whole part of me

but as i sit in thick viscous liquor
drowned in ink

i've tried to find less space to think
- actually listen -
to what my body says

treat myself a little
find the time to feel it

turn my ink into resin
sit with my mind

hold myself in the fear
of what i might find

as with the pen
i can only think

it's how i feel
that shows

how i flow
how i sink