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.