FINGERS

.


Black ones
on the Gibson guitar for blues.
Wet ones
in the girl’s next door at two a.m.
Tired ones
from writing hundred bad poems.
Hided in gloves
after a boxing match with mouth bleeding.
Two apart
sign of victory of capitalism over and over again.
Silk ones
in my lover’s precious hand.
Old ones
asking for peace and comfort.
Crossed ones
for good karma and dharma’s wisdom.
Angry ones
Pulling the trigger of a gun.

Just one,
pointing at you and your absolute waste of life today.