poem #1

No matter what, don’t look

Don’t look at the needle

Drawing the blood

Don’t look at the nice man

With the gloves on

They think the freedom comes

From the knowledge that it is there

But freedom is only real

When you look at the wound

Or the scar

I am gratified by the sting

Of a bee or a termite ant

Biting me, making my heart flutter

New romance between

Grinding teeth, chipped fangs