week of injuries.

a fracture waiting

on a black plastic sheet

surrounded by cloudy bodies

of this and that and all

that you are, that i am,

whatever it will be

it is already

and has been 

since that trip and fall, 

and almostfalls.

nothing but a yes

or a no, God knows,

He does, but i,

nothing more than

a vein, burst

in an outlined circle,

first deep magenta

squeamish and faint,

then expired violet,

old and forgotten,

with its puncture

off-center, a dot

of missing flesh.

and, two bubbles,

cooked prematurely,

disgustingly rare and

well-done, sizzled,

that formed

under the run of 

cool water (anesthesia

for as long 

as i can hold it),

the elegant vomit of a

metallic machine,

humming, spitting...

these two bubbles

that i cannot burst,

unless festering reds 

replace this pinkwhite.

i was randomly selected,

among you and you and you.

God knows, but i...