strong capable hands
palpate knots, knead away months
I breathe the ocean
into twisted agonies
muscle memories release
Massage
tanka
My Blood is Inked
soul, pierced, bled heavy
in black-crimson rivulets
dripping down my arms
sanguine streams converged pen-point
brazen skin stories tattooed
Trigger Tanka
my body, not mine
is communal property
man, with subtle touch
lays claim daily, ignorant
his finger’s on my trigger
(image: Matt Wisniewski)
