Literature
new years poem
I have fingers made for dialing rotary telephones until sore and
for pricking; one, two, many times
and pressing crescent moons into skin.
I am a cultivation of blood—bloodlines and blood oaths
and blood drawn from sewing needles, among other things...
chewed up blooding lips.
scratched bloody cuticles paired
with blood under fingernails.
bloody scalp and
bloodshot eyes—
Blood. Blood. Blood.
and damn, the best New Years Resolution I can give is,
maybe I'll do better next time.