The line

i cut into a line
and pin it in grime
until it wriggles
into a squirmy wormy squiggle
i swirl it
i whirl it
and ream it
into coiled little
curlettes
i call it unfit
i drag it through grit
and meticulously
sink it in puddles of spit
i bleed it
i pleat it
i read it
i bead it…quite taut
and when it is nearly down to a speck of a dot
i take out my inky filled pot
and gently begin to feed it
because beyond all doubt
i simply
just simply
need it.

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