.fingertips.

these days, i'm never sure whether my fingertips are black from dirty guitar strings, or bike grease

and whether a new hole will wear through my jeans in the knees or seat

whether my scabs will scar, like ghosts of an injury

the signs of usage creeping over my body
when i'm broken, i can be discarded
like an old chain holding onto its links
with broken fingers

mansfield

not as entertaining as the name would imply, a field
of men. or a man's field

filled with what, tomato vines? and maybe
the men run barefoot through

the fruit. they make
paste.