... addiction ..., ... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... blood ..., ... death ..., ... experimental ..., ... humor ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... the South ..., ... time ...

You Bleed, I Bleed, We All Bleed Blood

it pools.
and pumps.
drips.
stains.
coagulates when it hits air.

red wine, milky moonshine
coursing through every
bird of the air, fish,
serpent, receptionist,
Policeman, and seeing eye dog.

it has its own diseases
and is made inside our bones.
seeping through pores in our
legs, our arms, our hands, our ribs.

we are liquid. a bag of juice.
we are in our blood as
much as our blood is in us.

it warms our toes on cold Winter eves
and flushes our cheeks when aroused, or happy,
or frightened.

it separates us, yet we share it… swap it…

and walking among us
are the Feeders who drink it.
and therein lies our
eternal fascination…with Them.

for who in their right mind,
wouldn’t want to take a sip
of something so clearly…. magic.

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