into the blackness

[saw]

I'm running out of natural light
the winter sky is stealing my thunder
as I write this poem into the blind canyon,
and I know it's possible in the morning
when I read this I will only look perplexed
about the crooked lines on the page
the warped determination to finish
what I started when there was visibility

in my heart, and my soul was on a mission

this fractured fairytale
this glowing ember love affair with words
and their often ambiguous purpose
this writing beyond the point of actually being able to see
the letters laid down before the pen
or is it after the pen, I don't know....
in any case festering wounds demand to be popped
the infection insists on running down my face

so I wrote these words
right on into the blackness of my mind
like writing with your eyes closed
but your senses wide open and raw like bare nerves,
I imagine the hieroglyphics like a savant
black artist, carelessly wielding a double-edged sword
I push the implement across the table, left to write...
I wonder if the tears will ruin my work