.10 MOUTHFUL OF BLOOD

It’s cold out here: burn it off
like a gummy scar bubbling on the forearm.
Go into the thick anyway
ironing the bulge against bone in body—
graft a fine sear over calcium.
No reason to smile much,
they’re useless— no one wants a good man.
What sense
what use
what, need, is there for some who have too 
much to live for inside this animal fat 
rendered into a big blue ball revolving 
further in the endless, the endless,
the endless where stone stars kiss
rough after a few fingers.
That’s all there is.
Go at it like a chain of teeth
eating her up like raw egg—
can’t mind the texture of dislikable skin.
Keep on going,
it’s good for the human mist,
they tell me.

10.