Black Dust

Show me.
I want to feel around.
Let your flesh war
against my fingertips.

The remains,
blood red stains,
wedged between
pale, white ridges.

This skin of mine
dripping freedom.

Show me
your fresh wounds.
Ancestry and antiquity:
Crack like
fragile charcoal, and bleed
black dust.

Black dust is a fly in my house
beating its wings
and its head
against closed windows.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: