Old and Greats
They tell you to just bleed on the page,
all those old and greats,
as if we still had the time to dig at our wrists
with their sharp-cut fountain pens,
as if we still had ink like that.
But we don’t patch our trousers anymore
or wear scuffed shoes
because our shoes aren’t made
of that kind of material anymore;
we hide our wear and tear now.
Rhetoric isn’t an art like it used to be,
and we spend too much time hiding our bruises
to remember how to properly wrap a wound
once we have let it bleed
and bleed
and bleed
all over that godforsaken fucking blood-soaked paper
that all those old and greats
told us would be our salvation.
They all went crazy, you know.
Wonder we are too.
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