PicoBlog

Knife Tattoo

I stayed too long and said too many things. 
Not one cab on Columbus. 
Crossed the park and went home. 
It was late. Handsome men 
and their dogs roamed the lawns. 
I could smell them.
See the shape of their shoulders. 
The outlines of their cocks in their pants. 
How could you look at me like someone 
who’s never had his tongue 
down your mouth? At the party, 
I don’t think they should have 
given me a steak knife.
Or sat us across from each other.
I’m not a pacifist. I don’t like sugar or milk.
I smoke cigarettes only with people 
who have them. Or men who know 
how to cook difficult meats. 
The blood pooled on my plate.
I ate nothing and drank the last of the wine.
Are you sorry, you said in the hallway.
Where I was a person searching for my coat. 
The windows were open. 
Manhattan was cold.
One of our friends looked at us 
and knew exactly what we were. 
It was terrible. Isn’t it terrible
to be people no one can fix. 

To read “Heart Tattoo” click here.

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