Friday 8/08/2008 12:27:00 AM

The bull calculates. Seldom matadors color in their capes. The darkness is a womb. I'm born too often. Ugly men. Like placentas spill out afterward. Useless now.

Tracing the vein. Road maps under my skin. Of drugs taken. And places I can never go again. Following the clown. His white face like sex. Stark and hard to forget.

The trial. The jury. Cogent manipulations. Failing arguments. Of lonely men. Pretty doors in the child. Broken window in the woman.

The lie in warm blankets. Still shivering. The hour demanding explanation. For the stories we are left with.

The parade in long confession. Stitches not set. The emergency room. Full of people. All of them me.

The rain. The words. Sheeting down from a pointed roof.

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