Hungry Eyes

The pen is a pole, the ink bait. I am trying to lure the strange fish that live beneath the blank with these quick life like motions of words across this white surface, like vulnerable prey. It’s your hungry eyes I am trying to bait. Waiting for the line to urge so I can make my move. And when you are sputtering here on the ink stained page, I’ll perform surgery, slicing up beneath your ribs. The pen is a scalpel, the poet a grin, as I extract that trembling gift from inside your breath.

-A