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We actually, not also



she thought freedom, like performance, resisted repetition

yes, it's true

Even the rhythm of moons, circling forever 

named wolf, harvest, blue


neither good

nor pretty

but true


I was there


skull. I tell them.  skull to the earth

Open your mouth, your pelvis, your hands

she does, gloriously

who am I but a beast donning announcements

painting the bones of their becomings like clay



Your words touched me like rocks forming wrinkles in time

i worshipped those stones, never knowing I would burn them like cowpies and dance

Fire so bright in bleak winter


When Icarus fell no one knew he'd been there



No somber nights in the candy shop

They sell fluorescent bulbs, shoot horses

I offer stones



Sense will pour into me like sweet wine

the day they demolished the statue of men kissing in the plaza,

i found god in my ovaries.

perfect for drowning

what I can't see


most of my decisions have been reasoned with,

tortured and cultivated into sense missives


to say a thing and call it by its name.

touch bare grass at the edge of sanity

isn't this birth too?





Surprised, feeling the needle glide in time, half-sensed in dream,


quiet at the doorships of my ears

neither looming nor inviting

nor seeking translation

a metal shovel on icy snow

again, again



I eat you.



the way the norse sea wolf insisted on story, weaving his viking hair with seaweed and fibers of storm

her daughter melting icicles all over the city's lanterns until they broke

trees cracking across dawn

across a table, in the presence of enemies

empty tubs wait our nestled rest



I like it better after dark

when my chest cracks open and the earth slips side


pour mud from the marrow of my bone

when I'm gone

you'll find me in the broken bead, third from the left

bright blue

when the hawk lands

again on this branch and you name the moon yellow


not for blonde

but for the way she eats the sun

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