So much ink
You could make
Rivers flow
Out of pages
The world
Dripping blues
Blacks, hues
To match
Every bruise
Ever received

You could drink it
Out of jars
And fountain pens
Tasting the bitterness
Which is
Most pronounced
At room temperature
(I know this because
I once crushed
A Bic pen
With my teeth)

Then you’d ask
For the palate cleanser
And start again
Every meal a treat
From the library
Where they keep
Everything
Forever
You could ****
The marrow of life
Without having to go
Through the bones

So much ink
A man must die
Before running
The source dry
Can you imagine
Expiring before
Silence has entered
The book
You spent your
Whole life
Reading?