Blue ink. Blue heart. A way to start in deep as dye through a vessel tints lymph's branched trail. Cut cells, glass slides. The needle pricks skin's veil. I forget my girl days of curls and pleats. My shoulder brushed the door jamb and clay bells ring out reproof. If only I could stand, my mouth would say: sugar, I'm your dark ant. I drank it all, no ice. Red, black label. Decisions should be made any way but this: train wreck ahead, jumped tracks, the engineer amazed he's not the one dead. You're too near. You think I should let them. A few quick tests. I want what I'm afraid they'll give a name: murmuring valve through which this hard need came. ____ I couldn't resist filling the sonnet's well-ordered container with a messy situation. Tattoos, heart problems, and binge-drinking add a little daytime-tv spice. |