blot out the sky

the black shadow on the paper the stroke of darkness on an otherwise empty leaf of unbroken canvas flows from the tip of my pen, silently sinking into the vessel beneath my hand.

fleeting words flow, fleeing my otherwise clear mind leaping down my arm, into my pen, to be bequeathed by my hand into the thin page before me.

at first a few words, then full phrases filter through my subconscious, funneled into a poem with a few flicks of my wrist.

I write, and I write, and I write, ink flying furiously into the page, and I write, and I write, and I write, covering my mind, my page, and my body, and I write, and I write, and I write, until my ink blots out the sky.