Blots and smears - words we don't see

Hopes spoils my realities.
the pieces of darkness in my pockets
argues
trying to convince that light is elsewhere
within other pieces of darkness i have gathered.


Darkness
Like
a sentence staring out of broken nibs
the words are still there humming in the ink.



Blots
on white sheets in the attempt to incarnate
smashes like ink filled balloons of thoughts
in monologue.


what could be written are spreading smears.

if only smears could threadout
in curved refinements

If only
the words in the smears could come out of their
grotsque rags
as Cinderellas in their princess gowns.
Blots could become readable to the eyes.
If not, you got to be a Blot loving artist.