Here's to the red lines, light and clean
with unknown origins and make-believe reasons.
Thieves in the nightmares, carving out flesh.
Or small surrender in a tear-away joy.
And to the developing purple roadmap, with no real destination
in mind, whose start and stop ways are a mystery to me.
Here's to the brown and fading, those scars so numerous.
A small army written on my body. Some soldiers enlist out of passion,
a few out of anger,
and many out of frustration.
Those ones out of sadness, freak accidents, and the
burn
burn
sizzle
of cinammon flesh.
Especially to those
one two three that smile on my hips,
and the four five six that have nestled near my spine.
Thank you, to the green pipes that pumppump away,
gracing me with one more moment,
with another chance that putrid unlucky fox carcass never got.
To the little freckles, those faraway pieces, that stretch for each other,
like dear friends missed or lovers never-to-be.
The odd one on my lip
who, always kind, mirrors his own bow,
and to the one on the nubile curve, a final flourish at the end
of this song,
at the end of my skin.