blood

blood drips daily from our brows
we eat honey in our beds
we bleed and fill the holes with cloves
and paint our faces red


behind the door, above the eaves
the ravaged soul appears
cast out like pith and impotent
the future of our fears


this essence we have shed like wine
our bodies paper sieves
gathers in a single sea
unrequitedly to grieve


blood drips daily from our brows
we wear feathers on our heads
we bleed and curse the time of day
and paint our faces red