I bleed from strange places.
Succulent seeds that breed,
a husk to my porous outspillings.
A garter that binds soft cells.
Fat knots that warp and wart.
Scar tissue heals and weeps,
issuing scented reminders
of skin before sores and more.
Gnarled whorls rise unbidden,
scab then fall in flakes.
Crusted dust in cream and red
embed in woven Persian.
Slough with dry fingertips,
tear out hair, clumped – sticky.
Peel back layers and lashes.
My eyes see less than I feel.
I bleed in strange places.
His palaces, gutters and follies
where we hang, fair game
in his blistered libraries of pain.
