The Blood Work
Con/Jur/d, 4/5/2022

My arm is sore
paying for karma
he left before, I

stopped enjoying his rhymes in 6th grade,
although it's appreciated in others,
subtler rhythms
dominate now

The past and future, Mes,
yes, although they don’t exist
they’re a plurality,
with motives

irreconcilable with me now,
	“Still need to look away
	from the needle”

a survival trait he left me from before
when he’d have pushed through to a 
logical conclusion, “Without my fears, 
my mistakes, you wouldn’t

be here now” He’s lying,
even the One who comes after, 
bases too much on plans
made in ignorance

The day promises to be warm
sunlight refracts through the
dirty white shade, I’ve played
Wordle, hope to go hiking

This is the Blood Work,
beat after beat after beat
the warm red red black
an inevitable next word

Your voice heard before
and later still, 
saying “This is it, 
nothing more.”