Varnished Wit

Varnished Wit

The old man paints book covers

in a varnish

tinted with his blood. 

The crimson of isolation

must be exposed,

circulated. 

It helps him feel

less alone,

telling his story. 

The deeper the cut,

the more severe

his loneliness. 

He works deliberately. 

Brushing the human stain

across from left to right, a smear of his wit. 

No need to hurry, easy does it. 

Each stroke must have a personality. 

Develop voice.

He pours strong coffee into his dark-stained mug. 

Waits for the music to resume

from under the hickory tree.