Market St. Cinema Life
For Pin Cushion
Pressing against the cushion
the tip of the razor,
pushes,
gently,
against the billowy resistance of flesh.
The cut unfolds neatly.
The blood is red but not shocking,
not crimson, but determined.
It beads up
its full belly full, finally unable to contain itself
runs away into
a slow stream
that tries to escape
heading away from life,
like me.
First published in SoMa Literary Review
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