Order this writing in the Kuypers poetry book Close Cover Before Striking (first sold out with a neon green cover, later released with a matchbook cover) now available for only 14⁹⁵

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in the book
A Wake-Up Call
From Tradition
This is the 2nd of a 3 volume 2009 set.

the 5.5"x8.5" paperback book: $14.95

Order this writing
in the book
finally, literature for
the snotty and elite (v1)
This is volume 1 of a 2 volume set,
6"x9". Most of this book
is also in the 5.5"x8.5" book.

the 6"x9" paperback book: $21.95

Order this writing in the 2010 6" x 9" ISBN# book Prepare Her For This of Janet Kuypers poetry based on a 1996 chapbooks, with expanded relevant writings

Order this writing in the poetry book Burn Through Me of Janet Kuypers᾿ writings that were set to music by the HA!Man of South Africa (with many poems released on the Burn Through Me CD set Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book today:

This writing was accepted for publication in the May 1996 issue, v79 of cc&d, and was re-releases in 2019 as a 100 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Poetry and Prose” cc&d (v79, 2019 re-release) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the issue book Among the Debris the cc&d July-Dec. 2019 issues & chapbooks collection book		get the 494 page July-Dec. 2019 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

over my skin with such ease

The satin sheets were stained with blood.
Her face brushed up against the pillow.
The satin cut into her face as she tried to relax,
to stifle the tears. He walked out of the room.
“I always loved spring,” she said as she
leaned over toward the flower bed. There was no smell.
“I have to tell you something,” he said.
She didn’t listen to him. She touched
the daffodil to bring it closer to her.
The stem sliced her palm. The deep red blood
thickened as it trickled down her wrist.
She looked up. He was gone.

The tears burned into her skin.
The acid left behind a trail of scars
whenever it traced her jaw line.

The memories flooded my mind.
Every day, every hour, every minute,
every second, every moment.
The alcohol didn’t help anymore.
I turned toward the kitchen, went to
the far right drawer, shuffled
through the forks, soup spoons,
butter knives... I found a knife
with a sharp enough edge, not to
kill, but only to hurt. I put
the knife to my wrist. I wanted
to take the memories out of me,
any way I could. I took the tip
of the blade and ran it along
the inside of my wrist. As the
blood began to trickle from the
cut, I put the knife down and
ran my fingers along the cut.
The blood, like silk, glided
over my skin with such ease.

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