Like a graze, he moves,
scabbing over the sidewalk
in dried crimson.

His eyes give him away;
they flitter over the real world
seeing through it, around it.

A flailing moon is caught like a fish
on a dangling rod, impaled
on a celestial hook.

The scab has waited, lingered
in the shadows awaiting this.
He flashes a scimitar smile.

They don’t know what hit them.
They don’t feel a thing, at first.
They do then. Oh, they do then.

The scab is fresh now
blood oozing out over the city:
This anticoagulant killer.


21 thoughts on “Anticoagulant”

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