Fingertips stained with ink from broken ballpoint pen
A mess of blue black on the desk
I want to paint swirls on the decades old calendar
But no that's childish
I am childish
So I scrawl spirals until the ink dries
I scrub at my hands until only ghosts of ink remain
Like some cleaned up Celtic warrior
Is it so wrong I want to drag the ink across my skin
Painting the designs of the gods of battle
To go off and face grocery store fascists
And green market madmen
I close my eyes and simply breathe
__________________
Burn Burn Burn
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