Skin Writing: Prose Poem
Prompt response: how have words written you?
NOT written — hammered, hammer and needle the pulsing pounding with ink on the tips, drilled down into me — past veins, capillaries, past the sensation of burning, of the dread of having so many holes poked into me — past the blood that was wiped down my chest and came up black and red, darkening the cloth and keeping the stencil pristine —as the writing goes on —
but writhing words — yes, that at least, the story of an approach to dealing with failure, to subjugating the friendless nerd — lost abandoned boy who changed in a semester, who woke up to — style of silver, black clothes — an attack instead of constant bitter surrender*, instead of perpetual retreat —
the words come on the distant haunted tongue — yes, reading but writing out in the dark of sun-scraped back porch because there’s — there’s no one else around but the books and the body, bare of other ink but desire —
Out of the darkness, swords as words** — a discussion with fate, a change in the spectrum of a narrative — revision, re-visioning the future from a hiding out, from avoiding — emboldened by the language as crutch and crucifier — nailed onto the skin, inking different strands of speech —
