If I
could tell
the truth
about
what happens
to the marks
you leave
but won't stay
long enough
to watch
change
shape
change color
finally
fade
*
December
makes me
want
to terminate
every
unreliable
connection
*
The marks
turn into
syllables
I
stay
swollen
wait
for
words
breed
heirs
you'll
never
know
*
from your
whip
came
something
so far
from
decorous
*
I shudder
to recall
just how
I was
conceived