1868

                

He said, oh you are a bleeder for sure

& the poem is your tampon.

So I punched him in the nose

for all sissies. & he bled

all the way home.

snowy streets that led

to his superior dwelling

glowed with his blood's breadcrumbs

all night. in a Grimm forest

men hunt their loves

from their tricks. some acquire

ghoulish radar

but never a kiss.


he was one of those.


turn the page to see
the illustration on


the onion-thin paper of the heart.