bruising raze i can crack my knuckles on the ear of an old chair, slam my back or my hip against a door frame's rigid casing, stub my toes with such force it's a wonder the tiny bones that keep them together aren't crumbs — ash of oatmeal, soot of vanilla wafer cookie, soybean and palm kernel and canola killing themselves to stay alive — and nothing happens. then two faint patches of burnt sienna appear below the knee of my left leg, tender to the touch, when i haven't done a thing to myself. as if all the damaged cells that should have shown up somewhere else have migrated here in search of better weather. they never stay long. they're like most people that way. 220713 what's it to you? who go blather from