It’s dangerous here between the sheets
where the writers prey.
We sharpen quills to pay the bills
and lie without dismay.
We stab at words. Dice and splice,
prying up your every vice—
Exposing wounds in sacrifice
to entertain you well.
With pens like knives
we gouge the page,
Each of us an Ink-bleed Sage
...on the hunt for you.
Copyright © 2008 Lisa Atkinson