His Knife Was Still Blood Free

Published Works

Irritation cascades like flashes of sunlight.
The man sits in a
restaurant drinking coffee and smoking his
form of suicide.

He is
amazed at the people who sit around him.
speak in whispers but still he guesses
their conversations. Mumblings of discontent
that pour out like spilled cigarette butts.

He drank his coffee in mystery at the
constant interference of the waitress. She
casually offered to pour him more as her
eyes drifted around the room. He knew she
was not even concerned if he was alive or dead.

Praying, he kept angry
tabs upon the enemies of his life leaning against the
back drop of his world.

There were sounds of
breaking sand which he identified as the
beginning of his madness. Picking up his fork
he counted the endings and the beginnings of
his awareness.

emotions damaging his blood. He stuck the
fork into his hand and let the blood flow
aimlessly across the table. The waitress
offered him a napkin, cracking her gum
as she did so.

He wiped away
his sin, not at all ashamed of his
reaction.. It might have been over had he
not realized his knife was still blood free.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Published in "P&W (Poetry and Writing" 2010

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