“Hold on!”––
but it’s running everywhere.
Like I stabbed the center
of an inky squid. Or, rather
I just gripped the pen
too tight
that I suffocated it,
with everything I ever asked it to say.
Lenny loved it too much,
so did I. I guess it’s just the same.
It died
in my wanting hands.

So, the salt, and the water, and the ink
now run together as
I drag my hands through the ******
mess. I drown it all,
what I’d said–
Dead is yesterday.
The blood runs down
my arm and misses the sink:
on the counter
on the floor.
––“please,
just a minute.”

I have to wash the blue from my hands.