slicing blame in the right direction
for the first time
i count backwards from a hundred
i count loves i've failed
up in korean until i am
three fingers deep.
hours pass
the clock
numbers squaring towards morning.
tonight
stained hands
i blamed their white tile welcome
with my shuffling of cardboard sheets
clattering silver spray cans.
away
i stepped quickly
down the street
fingers tucked in
red palms.
later
i kick myself in a rectangle shaped bed
i picture
a woman on knees washing
my words with
small beads of sweat, the hours of her day.
my microscopic justice
a sloppy red splatter behind closed eyes.
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