This old artery wears fresh bruises

like toes drawing new lines in washed sand

didn’t know it still had blood to clot

didn’t know it still had blood at all

 

This old door missing locks

opens anyway to the faintest prayer

opens to a spidery garden of please

opens like an old whore calling favors

 

This old voice rides fiddles and drums

like they were jaguars moving in slow motion

shouting down a resilient deaf moon

shouting down funereal half-notes like trash

 

This old path still damp with the last bleed

leads you down to the place you started from

the place you imagined for your sleeping eye

the place you left your skin for safe keeping