Kurosawa’s Accident

I am bleeding

like a flowing creek.

Some Kurosawa


that left me weak.

Crime-scene droplets,

forensics, too,

determining the direction

that leads to you.

Flat on my back,

chalk outlined,

I look at my parts

and realize

that I have no wounds;

the bleeding

is all in my heart.

Standing up,

I decide to use

Kurosawa’s Accident

to make my art.

© CGT, 2018.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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