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2012-12-04 | |
like drying, reedless water;
unwanted, bitter tasting washer
offered, dumped, forgotten
there, where light has never thought
Making its way
to any fountain, well;
to any pond.
For seas are salty teardrop oceans,
eyeless witnesses of what it was
when clouds were roaming free
of south, of north, of anywhere,
raising wild children of prairie grasses,
smelling early of sweet dripping sweat...
My woman's armpits smell of nails
biting hard my back's skin,
my thighs, my arms;
of blood biting lips unwilling to let go...
Scar me oh woman, scar,
until there's nothing left this flesh's to cover...
Unskin me lover, hurt me,
until all flying seeds shall find their rooting playground...
Undo my former self, and hold me,
until our children, all shall wish to sing...
Give them our bones, my thunder,
until their song shall raise the dying...
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