the planet is getting hot and ya that might be “bad” for many species including humans if we are to say “extinction” and “bad” are synonymous but to the planet a desert is no more bad or good than a glacier and this is what you call luck

the ink i pressed
repeatedly over
and over repeatedly
into my skin,
over and over
repeatedly
into my skin the ink
pressed over
and over into my
skin repeatedly
by a needle
a small needle
into my skin
over and over
ink repeatedly
ink
into my skin
over and
over the ink
i dipped up
with a needle
repeatedly
and over and over
pressed it repeatedly
into my skin
over and over
the ink is now on
the oddly shaped
white formica table
with the wooden edges
that stick up
past the top
table top
a good one point five
inches
to keep things from
rolling off the
ridge presses
into the space between
my belly and
my chest into
my ribs
while i lean
onto the table
while also seated
the table
oddly shaped
and of white formica
that i do not find
at all
aesthetically pleasing
the ink
which was pressed into
my skin repeatedly
by a needle
over and over
it has leaked from me
and onto this
table oddly
shaped and with
a wooden ridge
running all the way
around it
a good inch
and a half and
it presses with one
sustained press
that changes
in intensity with my
in-breath
and my
out-breath which is
repeated over
and over
like the needle
that pressed
repeatedly
ink into my skin
over and over
and now
that ink is on
the weird and
kind of vaguely
displeasing table
and i wipe at this
ink spot
on the table with
my ball’d hand,
the meat at
the edges
of my hand soft
and just so meat’d
and this
this is less
displeasing to me
and maybe it’s even
brightly and briefly
erotic
so that i drool
just a bit salivate
really
and use this
wetted mouth
to help my hand
in its wiping dance
meat streaking
ink upon an
oddly shaped
white formica
table top with
a ridge of
wood running
along its entire edge
a good inch
and a
half to keep
things
from sliding off
and my hand
it slides
but then
bumps into the edge
and doesn’t slide
off but
my ribs
in the space above
my belly but below
my chest they
are pressed just
the once
into the same table top
edge that
wooden edge that’s
meant to keep
things from sliding off
and yet some
of my meat just spills
over it and on to
the white
formica table
top oddly
shaped table
top and my mouth
is wet and
the table is streaked
and smeared with the
ink which i wipe
with my hand the ink
which i think
has come from my
body the ink
which was pressed
repeatedly over
and over
with a needle
repeatedly into
my skin
it may be
ink
from a pen
though i see
a ballpoint pen
snugged up
conspiratorially
against that inch and
a half wooden
table edge
where
it has rolled but
been kept from
rolling off.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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