Books keep my secrets
Hushed scratch of pen
Kerosene flickering beside
These walls contain my blood
Ink and time
Sharp lines form intent
I add more resin to the charcoal
Smoke curling as blood ignites
I stop a moment
Tip tapping something
Typewriter slap clack bright
Words powerful enough to bend
Maybe break something too
The universe reverberates
Down into my bones
A silk hand rests upon my shoulder
Beak clacks
Antlers brush the air above
Our work is right
And good
It is necessary
Therefore
It is possible









