thinking it was a baby tooth, you tied it to the door.
burst of blood and clear skies,
i thought it looked like rain.
a regular crime scene;
a flake of red paint that crept under fingernails
as you carried the peeling and rotten door out of the garage.
hands that are now severing head from body
a surgeon operating; calm, collected, with purpose.
spatters of tabasco lay stark against white
as the pink tails pile up.
heavy on salt, a dry tongue
hinged on hope.