Wood stains and carpet burns
little miscalculations in the curve of my lips
spun plastics and scentless dyed pine
false communications and misinterpretations
my bruised eyes carry images of my own ancient horrors that must pass
as easily as an assembly line to your chronic melancholic sight
the burn of ancestral blood lining my gums was temporary
now my shelves are lined with books whose words must look like hieroglyphs to you
some truth is found between the curl of my roman toes and the fibers of linoleum carpet
the warped wooden shelves can't recall the grain under every layer colored new
and the carpet was never anything but manufactured tenderness
don't look to my books for some insight you will find none
unless instead you run your finger along
the blemishes that line my cheeks and conceal words
unspoken from ancient wounds healed but not forgotten.