MARK'S RED HILLOCK

There’s a (small) release between the concrete and I.

And an even smaller time before my knee pets it.

The release happens somewhere between my stomach and my neck.

A trip.

A trip on a crack that broke my mom’s curls.

A final burst… And I bleed red…

This was the first time I remember seeing red, and I was giving birth to it.

A (small) release, and within seconds it joyously scabbed.

*Blooming wilting blooming*

And formed a brown dome over my knee.

I was six.

And the scab, the scab was an old man, with two rosy cheeks at the center of a skin mound.

A fermented geezer, the scab had already begun it's process of-

*Blooming wilting blooming*

The Red Hillock gave me iron and taught me how to scream. It cratered my pointy moon below my femur, and showed me

The difference between REAL red and glossy plastic red...

There is a somewhat (big) release between the concrete and I. It manifests through one last breath- one last push- one last sigh.