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old apophysis

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Animal woman spirit-body girl

we must somehow come to terms

with the nature of our differences.

receive a small kiss

for respect.

A tenderness of hands.

Rock and steel are

weary tools dull from

overuse, hands are cut

bruised from holding

on to too many things.

Homes are corner filled

with materials for craft

livelihoods, music peace

unused half forgotten.

Flesh gun-shy from abuse

and misunderstanding.

These words are bread made

from my hands.

Still warm fresh

wrapped in humble colored

cloth an old flag

perhaps, faded

unpatched but washed

put to good uses.

There seems to have been a war

going when we got here.

I didn't want to join

so I ditched and

am on the lam.

Are you fighting?

I hope not

you seem tired short

of temper as if struggling

from uncomfortable situations.

It is difficult to tell

though if you have

slain many or have

escaped the blade one

too many times.

Weary fashion sick

jumpy and hungry.

The war is a fantasy

made real by people

half asleep punch drunk

lazy hearted.

Your perception of the world

needs me as much as my

perception of the world needs you.

I can turn my back

on a lot of things

but never on the beauty of truth.

Mother warrior sister artist

the house is a mess

I'll clean the dishes

if you put away

the knives.

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There is a mad woman

there is not enough time

to reason with her.

she has become unreasonable.


Her face is purple and bruised

puffy from abuse, she has been driven

to liquid frenzy, her eyes sing rage

She swings the arms of jailers


on chains wrapped around her arms.

Here she comes, her teeth are

chipped and sharp from gnawing through

iron bars and stones to be free.


She is free now, she has twisted

away from the rules of men.

She has gone to the other side

to eat, to fill her bones.


That other place takes

the amniotic fluid of the eyes

and replaces it with the blood

of the wombs tortured children.


She has learned to leap and run

She has taken Salomes dance

and refined it to razor sharp

movements beneath her soiled robe.


She has learned to pronounce

the names of the Goddesses

and she has come to set them free.

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Elijah is in his underwear

asking where

is my damned jehovah

spoon and needle.

Hands shake

bumps on elbows

electric yellow stains

on holy underwear

asking where

is my ever-loving revelation

grenade pin.

Sits down on flying

dust pan tunes

into twentieth century

Pukes, trembles,

scratches at eyes,

Screams, falls back.

Blacks out-comes to

says, man,

this is some shit.

Finds out

his soul's been mainlined

to a nightmare

far up ahead.

Becomes a stock car racer

marries asixteen year

has twelves kids

raises lamas, alpacas,

doesn't vote,

waits for the end.



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