the moon's pale hair
dusted the top of the water tower
spattered in graffiti rust.
i want so much to flick the dirt
from under my nails
and the dried blood smeared on lips.
i took a seminar on how to give back
and we learned to cut up plastic cup holders
and draw crosses on our hands.
i hung your painting in the room with the ink stains.
i feel nothing while i pass through this life,
paper mache carnations
king of clubs
missing buttons
all collect under my nails.
i just want to scrub
until it's fleshy pink
and i can write poetry again