IT'S IN THE BLOOD

   Nails split, crack,
   he drags them down the wall
   in a tensed arm display
      of white knuckled endurance.

  By the time he's done it a few dozen times
  a blood trail of poison covers the white with
  scratches on exhaust stained
concrete cinderblock wall.

      It's a shark's smile: deadman.
      It's a serpent's eyes: deadman.

  It's dry bones loose wrapped in white skin
      hidden under black leather.
        It's raw bloody fingertips and pain.
                      DEADMAN.

The circus of flanneled grunge kids
  buzz in and out of the club like flies
     at the crack of a garbage can.  It's not cannibalism
    if you do it to yourself, fingers pass lips
   so he sucks up a mouthful of his own gore,

         nothing more to lose.

        It's tacky and rich, sweet
         with the taste of copper and pork.
            Disappointed.

    The stuff of life
   should taste like sweat and sugar,
    should be heady and spiced
         like pepperoil and vinegar.
     It should burn the pallet white hot vital-
      It should roll on your tongue
        like a mouthful of bees
    and the sting
should bring you primal screams.

   He pulls out his fingers-
     sneers at them-
      they look/taste like food.
       It's just not right.

     It's a predator's gleam
      and a thin dribble of drool and blood
       that makes his mouth beautiful.

         In the window he bears his teeth at his reflection.
           Red lips, pointy 'nines, and a symphony
          of deep black hair,
                  pupils
                 shadows
               and clothes wrought
                  on gaunt pale skin.

      The pain makes him sharp,
       so he taps two blood smudges
    on the reflections of his eyes and a bloody little smile
    and it's funny.
    It's a razorblade angel
    clicking on a mirror toothed demon.

          It's just inhuman.


    "HEY JOHN! Dude! Hey!?"

    Head dips, eyes narrow.
    Deep in the window world reflection
            he see's Randy:
        circle-A shirt, "Die Pig" earring,
     black pinstripe jacket and a cherub face so
        sickeningly cute that girls
     suck up to him
like he were some kind of fucking icon.

    "JOHN, man,
     I was just driving by and I
       saw you kickin it here- 'sup?"

[to the window]"Just here to see the show, man, keeping busy."

sweet rhythms in sour people
are like wolves crouched to turn on the alpha
    Too bad Randy's as dense as he is girlishly pretty.

    "Right on."
    he looks up at the sign.
   ("Jesus, the streetlights give him a fucking halo! The little bitch")

    "'Ragefull'o'bediance'- cool.
      I've heard they're good. Hey man, I -uh-
          talked to Wendy... and
        she told me... and y'know...
      if you need to talk or just want to hang ou-"

   (WITH YOU?!? You fucking pretty boy,
        club hopping, petty, shallow,
           cock-sucking, bitch teasing,
          narcissistic asshole?
                 I'd rather just die now,
              thanks!)

    "NO,
      nooooo, that's OKAY-
   I don't need any goddamn support group."

    "Whoa man I was just-"

              "Yeah?
     Save it.
     You weren't my friend before, so
         why the Hell
  do you want to be now that I'm terminal? Huh?!!
need a diseased friend for conversational value?"

    "I should just g-"

    "Yeah-
          take off asshole,
      do your good deeds to someone else!"

    "Look dude,
     just because
      you came up positive
        doesn't mean
      that you gotta take it out on me- I mean fuck
         I know that yer all-"
        blah blah blah blah blah blah

    The words suddenly blur like a weak signal on a bad station
        and Randy's full lips all bunched
     up make his nose crinkle
    in a syrupy sick display
         of self righteous sympathy/offense
      that would prompt a lover to say
        some cliche like:
       "God, you are beautiful when you are angry!"
          and it makes him so rageful
            so filled
               with a raw throat sticking
          pin pricking hatred
      that his bloody fingers pulse to his heartbeat
         in a crazy out of sync time.

      Before even the thought
           can take weight
       he's on Randy hitting him
over and over and over
  an eight armed spider
   a screaming skeletal gorilla
         in bloodlust frenzy.
Randy throws a few weak blows but
          he's a lover, as they say,
   and fights like a girl.
Two teeth already out
     Randy's mouth is a bloody mess.
      John shoves fingers in it
riding on the rhythms of the grunge kids hooting.
    Randy reflexivly bites down hard
    cutting through the skin
    stopping on the bone
      gets a full mouth of John's blood and John...

     John half howls, half laughs:
       "BITCH-
       NOW YER'A DEADMAN
                           TOO!"