Ink -- by Kim Ode

When Johnny Cash died

They published memorials,

Ragged columns of ink

Reprising his life.

Kids still pick at his songs

Caressing frets with their fingers

While squinting at chords –

Ball-point dots of his strife.

Ink flows from pens.

Ink flows from needles.

Ink asks if we’re certain

Then winks when we nod.

Monks labored in abbeys

Illuminating the Word.

Shakespeare’s quill dipped and scratched

Soliliquies for the crowd.

Treaties and grocery lists,

Lyrics and lies.

Ink’s fluid nature

Both confirms and denies.

Tattoos are stories

Absorbed by our pores.

Injections of chapters

On biceps and calves.

Epiphanies, tributes,

Drunken stabs at eternity –

Ink walks the line

Lending all a blue beauty.

Silently, surely

The hand-drawn script letters

Deliver a message

As honest as dogs.

Ink flows from pens.

Ink flows from needles.

Ink asks if we’re certain

Then winks when we nod.