By Conrad Pierce
Bloody knuckles accompany my hands
like rodeo fans with belt buckles, sitting in the stands.
Bare skin against the leather combined
with the snow which is the weather- makes me bleed.
Eating the cream cheese bagel as I indict my sin-
my feed. Full now as I take a nap can't feel my skin-
fur on the bed over my own to hold in the heat so my own I rap.
Speaker buds in my ears bumping rhythms to hide the rain as it hits the roof.
Woke up this morning with the after effects-
slowing my body down like slow motion tape decks.
Seeing my hands where the cuts are revealed present scars creating former situations
when at night I punched the bag of seeds-
the same as before, different reasons though and now different needs.
Next few days will be poetry, new and old- made by me.
Feedback welcome....
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