Do I open my veins
willing death to my words,
cut a deal with routine
and paper doll myself into this movie set?
Inspiration will bleed out,
porcelain thoughts hurled
like nobody’s business.
I’ll just hack at my fingers, joint by joint,
keystroked characters mused by us, by you
will ooze out, dry up, leaving stain marks
as did our forgotten tea cups after
that four-day junket in a writing haze…