screw finals.

there are many things
i would like to write
and can't
things i would rather not write
but have
will
and there are nights
when finding ink is like
pulling blood out my veins
with a straw,
the opposite of pleasantry.
leeches and ticks get
far too personal for me
and perhaps
i fear they'll run
my pens dry.
i have no qualms
with insects
who space themselves
a polite distance from my skin,
and i am not so proud
to think
there is inspiration inside
these blood canals
worth protecting
but i've got to take
what i can get
so call in the exterminator
and let's pretend
this is in
everyone's self-interest.