PoemsPerDay

6.3.2015

I walked into the

airport bathroom

and there was

blood

all around, dripping

still fresh, pooling

below the fixtures.

I turned to see

if you were still there,

had hidden, or

fallen

and I stepped to the

sink and around the

spots on the floor

lest something of

you

pour out into me.

what happens in

empty rooms

that we leave our

selves

behind

for others to dance

around, lest the

infection

stains.

what happens in

empty rooms

for us to walk

away

with paper towels

used up in

hopelessly

trying to staunch

the flow

of our dreams and hopes

and wounds.

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