You tell stories with your fingers
You tell stories with
your fingers.
They unlock your jaw,
Cinched together by rusty
blood.
Tarnished copper crowns
Tear your cheeks and gums,
And
they taste like the soap
Slipped between your teeth
By those
who would call you Brother.
Keys open dusty chests to reveal
elegiac notes,
Written longhand on paper stained with
insomnia
And a glass of whiskey for every piece.
History as
rich as reflections melts in your hands,
Tattooing them ebony and
ivory.