Ink Blot

“You must stay drunk on writing so that reality cannot destroy you.” –Ray Bradbury

I wouldn't get in the ring with Ali, or meditate

in the wilderness with Buddha. Nor would

I want to sleep with the whole basketball team.

See, I'd rather box Gandhi and scream

at a mime. And later, touch myself

into insomnia, eyes glued to the poster

above my headboard. But above all else,

I'd love to just sip a lyric laced brew

‘til tipsy and slur at the slinger to keep 'em

coming, until my deviant demise draws

near. The hand's liver rots and blooms

in blotches as if lava were sloshing

beneath. Then my heart explodes—magma,

and I collapse forward, leaving behind

the blot of my face: ink on paper.

Originally published in New Voices 2013 Ivy Tech's Literary Journal

October 13th, 2013