Blood is red
But first it's blue
When it's in your veins
Suffocating you
Bruises are black
And then they turn green
This is it love,
this is the death scene.

Solitary confinement
Hard to find a need
In ease of social security
Though funds run out
Seldom sought future of own
Unknown
Selfish disclosure
Going without
Relished reality me
Found distractions in each we
Covergirl coverup
For a face hardest to face

The human tongue
is as venomous
as a cobra's
kiss.

                                                         ­                            Don't abandon the
                                                                ­                             herbs once the
                                                                ­                                       pain has
                                                                ­                                           passed


Let the hand wield
and the mouth
chew on and
on




                                                      ­                              For with that hand,
                                                                ­                              writing peace
                                                           ­                                       is one thing
                                                                ­                                     to treasure

If you want people to like your poem, you can't force it more than once
You can go with the obvious,
And even go all a flourish
But no more than once each
You can scrap a tap
On a dark, desolate path, haunted by furious ghosts
But don't bring it home on the same path so winding, you get lost in your landscaping, and desperately claw at whatever is available.