I let it all run
Thickly and quickly
I want them to see the messy horror of it all.
But it’s not all blood,
Rather it is the medium for my art:
Pictures of roses, cardinals, apples
The rouge on a woman’s lips
An  umbrella on a rainy day
A wool sweater
A pocket square against a black suit
The traffic light on the corner of the street...
Or perhaps I'll dip my quill in it and write
Because that's what writers do.

They turn all that red into something beautiful...