Fast

After a few weeks' fasting the poet
looks at his papers & wonders how poisonous
his inky scrawl has made them:
lots poisonous? or only a little?
If a little he might risk it --
as a child he ate such things, after all merely pulped wood,
Surely having some little value.
foodwise he means
& at least they would be filling.

I should probably post something that isn't a poem here at some point. >.>