JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Pain coagulates
blood on old wounds
reopened by compulsive fingernails|
picking like addicts
at the scabs of time

 

I sort through memories
old clothes pushed into bottom drawers
try on discarded insults
match yesterday’s resentments
like forgotten socks

 

In a buried corner
I find a letter
in an envelope without a stamp
adressed by a dim and distant Pandora
and opening it, the blood spurts out anew

The sentences stare at me again
each word so clear yet together
remain the mystery they always were
 

Lost again in the maze
old questions put aside
but not answered
I know
that despite enlightenment
despite education
despite experience
the child of me remains bewildered
victim of forgotten blood