Friday, February 8, 2013

bruises, horns, flakes of dried blood, & new books

bruises, horns, flakes of dried blood, & new books

you always bruised easily
would tell me about each new one
how you had no idea when it happened
or the moment you knew you’d caused another

bruises blossom through a rainbow of colors
black purple green yellow
expand before blinking like a lake
freezing in winter & thawing each spring

if i could write you a song
it would have a horn section

the music would rise electric
like a morning sky somewhere

among pink & orange & red
reminding you of the word joyous

the morning shave left nicks across my face
flakes of dried blood dotting my skin

i never noticed & no one said a word all day
until i saw you & of course your hand rose

to my cheek to wipe away brown flakes
as if that was the most important thing ever

i open the cardboard package of books
a bouquet of Murakami bundled

into a neat brick of new worlds
that i cannot share with you

i hold each one briefly rubbing the cover
regretting one corner is bent from shipping

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