Red

I watch us all now--all of us, but mostly

my own strange face in the mirror--

as if we are bleeding.

We are in the bleeding stage of living. 

The pouring out phase. 

Life is pouring from us in red, thin, swirls 

like the red juice of boiled beets 

down the kitchen drain. 

Our bodies now as warm, as soft, as sleepy, 

as pungent as those easy to slice, 

those tender beets.

After the bleeding only a stain remains, 

only a red blemish is left of all our red

hot desire now gone. 

I turn all night with that thought.