After the party, I passed out
oblivious to restless vessels of magma in my nose.
The warning gauge failed.
Unknown that night, I bled
a Bruegel masterpiece onto my pillowslip
scarlet blooms flecked with white pollen.
First whip of next morning, dazed in a back yard
of bindweed and poppies I took vicodin
with half-chilled beer and sat in the sun.
My upper arm wore the purple petals
of doorman’s fingerprints.
How many topsoil layers cover this bedrock
I wondered, reclining in the gazebo,
peeling blood-flakes from my skin.
