Four Darks In Red
Bad body is a hemorrhaging Rothko.
It drags like a laundry sack smearing
its unshowered oils across the wood floor.
Down the hall, bad body takes a break
like a bone. It balances its head
with a throbbing. Bad body complains
even the wind hurts. See how its hairs
rise when you get too close —
you are a zap of static. Bad body is so
negative. Bad body won’t get dressed.
It stands in the open hallway
refusing to lift its arms for the shirt.
Refuses to lift its legs for the shorts.
Bad body says maybe tomorrow.
Bad body says can’t you see I’m fatigued
in red and redder and black camouflage.
Bad body says don’t move, just listen,
just stop, wait a second, give me
a second. Bad body swells a bad grenade
brain, now cupping its ears from the ringing,
the ringing, the ringing.about the author