Blood

Most people don’t understand

whether the sun rises

from behind the mountain or

is shot out of the pistol’s barrel

it always burns you.

For this so many of our dreams

remained unrealized

inexplicably happiness was laid

in the display window

of the department store and

loneliness was again eulogized

in churches, while as the years went by

him, the one with the severed arm,

kept on other people’s discolored

walls, truth always decorates

the cement, one word written

with fiery red letters:

blood, blood, blood.