+do you ever walk down the street
feeling like death
and if and when
do you scrape your knuckles on the rough brick wall
or make terrible music on wrought iron fences
tunnel vision counterpointed
by a beautiful burning:
two bright spots on a dim shadow
- that scene in Bleu
her heedlessly sanding her knuckles off
my deep recognition and the glance down at my own, bruised -
i box concrete walls
until i sit down hunched over my punished hands
and think maybe they got me in trouble in the first place+