5.31.17

Blood on my keyboard

not from aggressive writing,

but nicked while cooking.

POEM:

I think I was typing

the word love,

when blood dripped

on the keys.

They may look back

a century from now

and say, Wow

what a man, what an artist,

bleeding out the brutal

stuff inside him

one keystroke at a time.

But really,

I was slicing tomatoes

last night

and took a chunk out

of my finger.

I also don’t have Band-Aids.

But I will accept

whatever history gives me.

I will leave the blood

on my keyboard

and let someone else decide.

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Written at 11:44 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.