I am establishing self into
own vision; swallowed some of
My Own stolen ink: chewing on the pen from the front desk.
—tongue was aflame and bitter.
"Well," said self, "I better get more used to the taste of ink." —looked at me
in the rearview. "At least you look Dead Handsome with blacked-out, bruis-ed hickies on your lips."
And I popped my collar up.
It made me look distinguished, so I kept it there—. Opened car door and spit black bugs and blood against the snow.
Quickly realized then, how I could make the ground my canvas.
