‘ink message’

a little squat bottle
of speedball india ink
sits next to my
wandering fingertips
with a tightly shut
black lid
and a tiny inanimate glare.

even when i move it to the other
side of this old desk,
i look over and see that
its lines,
and words are forming in a
meaner glare
at my modern machine of
writing.

luckily there is not
a sharp quill feather in
the room,
otherwise i may fear for my
life as the bottle
is now out of sight.

i haven't touched it and
as i turn slowly to
see if it may have fallen,
i notice a dark, wet stain
on the tan carpet in the
shape of a large winged bird
full of
antique writing instruments
ready to
kill
my
words.