Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Listening For Blood

This isn’t the first time
I have sat
with my head
in my hands
waiting for words to come.
While others dine on Dim Sum,
my diet is consonants and vowels.
Each one more delicious
than the next.
Each one a titillating proposition.
It is like that with writers.
We can not help ourselves.
Our world is internal.
A zeroing in on the heartbeat,
a listening for the blood to flow.
We live for the sentence.
The ending.
The beginning.
And what comes in between
is heartache
and unbelievable
pleasure.
It’s a lonely world,
one that I would never trade for
a “normal” existence.