there¹s a lot of hands here no finger prints to be spoken of I fear my finger tips have all been worn smooth there¹s a lot of hands here and they¹re pushing and pulling and stroking and grasping I fear my palms have been worn too smooth too much road-kill to-night the path was clogged with bits and pieces and parts of thoughts that don¹t sit with me too kindly too much road-kill to-night I saw a woman struck by a truck and I think she made it but her baby did not belt lying there like a dead snake flannel lies there like a dead snake skin but the armour¹s off and I¹m talking less and I think I should try and talk a little less I¹ll strip another layer I will bring it down to my skin I¹ll find the stone that lies so deep inside. maybe the tears you cry aren¹t quite like mine but I¹ll kiss them away I¹ll open up my chest and take you inside I¹ll kiss this pain away from you. It¹s strange to hear crickets again I guess I¹ve been in the city too long it¹s strange to see your face again I guess I¹ve been away too long it¹s strange to touch you I forget how your nose goes to chin goes to cheek again goes to lips again. I do not bring you my tears because I expect you to wipe them away I bring you my wounds because I think that you might kiss them away and over these years this world has taken so much blood out of me and over these years this world has taken so much out of me I tell you one thing my ribs are made of steel and they could not take my heart out of this if they tried my ribs are steel and they could not break a piece off of me if they tried
©1998 rob hinkal