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Ink on Paper

A scorpions needle
is aligned with
the nib that I dip
into a ravens nest
preparing to strike
preparing to write

Writing cuts deep into skin
leaving marks
unlike phrases in chalk
they can’t be erased, but
can sting your nerves
and become words, become scars

And as the cricket’s done twitching
flat on his back and
slowly goes numb
so, he will face the stars
chirping a final
truthful song

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