inkpens

i don't use inkpens
anymore
because they are so
likely to bleed,
like that letter
in his back pocket
and those notepads
that were caught with me
in that late night
summer rain.
all those words
washed away
not erased,
but blurred, melted.
irretrievable.
interviews and poems,
observations and stories
that came out of me
with shape and power
and an illusion of substance,
but bled away
on contact
with his sweat
and my rain.

[northampton, circa 2003]