blood on the pages

windows were left open as I slept
last night.
the sun is warm in the morning like
a blanket.
the wind had finally gone the way of the
buffalo.
I sit outside in the shade
with a cup of coffee and a good book,
smoking the first cigarette of the day.
I hear flies and bees buzzing with fury
but I don’t see them anywhere.
they seem to be getting louder
but they may be invisible.
little bugs, other bugs,
keep landing in my coffee
in my book.
I keep slamming my book shut
killing the bugs and splattering
their small amounts of blood across the page.
every writer…
well most…
some writers smear their own blood
across the page with their words
but at least this book now
has some real blood.
the bugs were nice enough to get smashed
in the margins or header of each page
to not muddy the print.
I appreciate that.

be sure to pick up my book THE END OF EVERYTHING available now at Indiegogo!

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2 Comments

  1. Bug Blood: a haiku

    Sometimes a bug’s blood
    isn’t bug blood, but the blood
    of bug hosts. Sleep tight.

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