clean scissors, I beg

for rescue, for a pin

to tend the pain: pink

not newly, slit red

then blue. In purple

liquids I store

the pulse: thump

thump in the dark

narcotics. Fizz-

winged, my fissures

shore: approach

the winking beacon

of a still-life body:

smooth and porous, pried

free from every

pinching reign: stung

veins and stony ventricles.