poetry

Calluses

I cut my calluses slice through them with clippers, knives, scissors sometimes down to the meat past the dead unfeeling part to the part that bleeds It bubbles right up like crude, pressurized It’s surprising every time when it hurts when it bleeds and won’t stop I wrap tissue after tissue paper towels if that’s all I’ve got and pull them away to gauge the flow Once it’s down to a red dot I dig…

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