Tarantino Pain Synopsis

the pain smells like pennies, stinging with bits of concrete

from the chunk of stone fireplace littered with remnants

of your face. the pain looks like a mask of blood and ink

from the 70s phone rotary that cracked under your brow.

the pain looks like the grand, black canyon crag that is

now your skin, valley border to a sizzling pink, oily ravine

of your flesh. the pain smells like the acidic, searing gust

of chlorine and the shattered glass melting in your face.

the pain sounds like the muffled growl of a pit breed taking

your punches but gripping harder and the juicy gush of your

testicles between their teeth. it smells like the smoke of magnum

fired from a fist clenched in pain and the copper, allium stench

of bloody urine from your fang-torn bladder.

and they laugh

—P.H. Evans