May 27, 2007


If they took my ink, I would kill to write.
Bleed finger, Iíll be my own shill to write.

All press closer, here is the drill to write:
Scream foul till your voice is too shrill to write.

Trickster I say: you are too ill to write.
They say, doctor, give me a pill to write.

I whisper, none of you have nil to write.
Where is Monsieur Flaubert, his skill to write?

O, K.! le mot juste, the will to write,
Their blood flows, I drink my fill to write.

—Karren Alenier
First published in Karren LaLonde Alenier: Greatest Hits, Pudding House Publications (OH, 2003)

Posted by dwaber at May 27, 2007 12:53 PM