Classic Poem

As teenagers my best friend opened my forearm with a hunting knife until we saw white. I did the same to him. We disfigured each other like Masai warriors, dragging boars from the mundane cul-de-sac wilderness. Our bodies have been sliced to decaying confetti. Flaps of skin follow us from apartment to apartment, a DNA bread crumb trail. It is so common as to be universal. Most scars on our bodies are as mysterious as the trials that brought us here. A bolt of lightning down the thumb. A pit in the cheek. A stick in the forehead. I have no stories to tell. My body celebrates my existence by chopping itself and leaving you the pieces. Tea leaves. Thrown bones. My nose falls off when it rains.