A Writer’s Resting Place

How lovely it must be to have
your ink permanently set to the
margins of a page.
Your syllables tattooed forevermore,
amongst the wisps of soul,
and celluloids of pressed bark. 

All of those little intricacies found
bound in the binding of a book. 

I would have flesh and bone,
and most of all, a voice. 

BIATA

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