from his hands.
It spread as Poison ivy.
It clumped together in
thick clusters. And the oils spilled
out. Enough to fry a trout. So, he kept
his hands in his pockets. But the oil
bled right through.

He couldn’t wash it
from his face.
Who can wash human stain?
He covered it up with smiles,
careless, foolish guile. And hoped
it would go away. But it never went
as far as his back yard.

He couldn’t wash it
from his mind.
It came in
waves. And when it came
it drove him further from his reality
until he was lost at sea.

He couldn’t wash it
from his heart.
It was unreachable
at this point. But he couldn’t own
it. So, his heart stopped