The winds of change blow the sands of time
In such a violent manner
They erode and smooth the scars
Left by careless pasts
Then cut deeper in new ways
New areas to be scarred
Like the 3-D mural of the
Grand Canyon, tattooed on my good friend's
Arm, which continually spat
The Colorado River as the tattooed member
Rested against the cold tile, draping over the
Side of the tub
The place my good friend gave up material want
For the spiritual punishment which she so believed in
And the winds of change blew the sands of time
Like a pumice stone scraping away
So-called offensive skin
As if an apology for being human
Acting as a cyclist backpedalling
To deny the cemented fact of what was done