Skin/Prose /Internal rhyme



I turn the page and find previous page ‘s imprint. A dyslexic, incoherent, illegible scribble. Why isn’t there sense in this nonsense? The ink’s too deep n dark, imaging sharp. The paper’s the blotter and the medium to express. Suppress the urge to make a new definition. You’d need wrong kind of knack to read what’s at it’s back.

What ink pours on the baby’s paper? The deep, dark ink leaches on the epidermal scroll. Oh my goodness! That’s droll. Gather, go, manufacture- home grown or factoried- the lotions & potions andwhat all. Fair packs for fairness it lacks. Bereft of any sign of ink- not even a mole. Erase, till its only pink. Let the world unite I so declare; if not as nations then as all skins fair.


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