Today I nicked the sole of my foot
Walking barefoot and babyfaced through the house
Planks creek evoking the hearty eeriness that so frequently comes in July
Catching the dewdrops of my early years in my cupped hands like a melting bomb pop
Today I nicked the sole of my foot
Not on the aging wood but on a small shard of glass
A follicle of a wine glass drunkenly dropped while hastily undressing up the stairs to my bedroom, laden with lust
or a mason jar clumsily relinquished to the floor on account of it being covered and smothered with water and acrylic paint
slippery and wet and color clad accidents often draw the most blood
I nicked the sole of my foot on a small shard of glass
A knick became a gash as I buried my grubby fingers into the wound
I thought only of the Ghent altarpiece while applying pressure on the wound
The lowermost center panel, “The adoration of the mystic lamb”
No chalice to bleed into and no patron saints to worship me while I shed red
I bleed by my lonesome and the blood trickles between the cracks in the wooden floor
I applied a tie-dye bandage and moved on, as I often do in July
In a year I will pack my room into eight or so cardboard boxes but a red smudge between the wooden panels of the second floor will remain
I bleed in July, I bleed for permanence that is so minuscule, you’d never know I bled for it.
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