he made them bleed

he made them bleed

near the Seine,

far from the left bank,

where a tourist boat sank,

feeling he was alright

for much of an hour.

i'll give him that

wherever he sat,

he drank to it, too.

he made them bleed

due to an overwhelming artistic need

which they all knew,

offering themselves to the sky,

never once asking why,

like the open palms of a repenting priest

wanting more than the least,

asking God for growth.

he was God, he liked to boast,

singing his song

while smoking or sleeping in his bed

with a woman whose lips were painted bright red,

rising up at times to plant a kiss,

digging a hole that couldn't be missed.

he made them bleed

like an ocean watering a rose.

he made them bleed

like a Spanish nose

hungry for a willing companion

and her willing toes.

he made them bleed

like an animal with it's tooth,

at times sensitive,

but mostly talented and uncouth.

he made them bleed.