I Think That Bitch Gave Me Herpes

Blood pools on my lips
tasting of lead and stone
I notice only peripherally
almost like remembering the smell of the ocean:
illusive, faint, ghost-like
but still it haunts me
inescapable.
Despite my inability
to focus on the taste
the blood covers everything
seeping over the sands with red
staining all within recall.

Flashlight Glasses

When I was sixteen
I directed the beam of light from a spotlight
pointing
to where audience attention was needed.
A variety of filters
affixed prior to the origin of the beam
allowed me to change its color --
red, blue, green.

Now I am not sixteen
the only spotlight I direct are my eyes
pointing
to what demands attention.
Only one color of filter,
bonded to the glass panes nailed to my head
force a singular vision:
death, death, death.