Still Life

The first time I went into the bathroom,
there was blood on the walls of the last stall,
splattered like paint thrown excitedly on a canvas,
by some soul exploding its essence outward,
through the finite matter of its shell-

Death painting white bricks.
Still life.
True high art to draw the senses
upward in the contemplation of God.

When I went back later that day it was gone,
wiped away by a quick hand and Lysol,
leaving disinfected bright bricks,
hiding eternity.

Someone had written in all caps
on the stall door
in black magic marker,
“TAKE CARE
BE GOOD
GOD BE WITH YOU.”

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