Lancets

Prick just below till it seeps with the flow
Earth-rich russet churns red with its tone
Tracking deep welts for no more than show
Divining the shimmer in droplets which pool
Richer than tea-leaves or crystals aglow

Crisp flaked letters on razor-sharp rods
Spelling the shadows of insevere scars
Why lance the track when the river runs dry
When parted like Moses, with glinting knives

For fun or for pleasure
For pain or for verse
Phlebotomy for beginners
With lancets of course
For razors are skinny
Crudely made not to last
Home surgery comes easy
Just cut out the past.