I cut myself easily these days|
Like opening an onion
Although not as often
For human blood is a very special condiment
that should be reserved for special occasions
such as when I am unrecognisable
floating forty feet above the body
that sometimes belongs to me
twirling a box cutter on a black granite cloud
while looking for signs of life below.
I need something else to think about then
To write my recent history on someone else''s flesh
in bloody hieroglyphs of my own invention
To come back to earth.
And let the pain come screaming out
in great flaming red gouts of bitter regret...