drops out of its box squalling
into the light. they are both squalling,
animal and cage. her bars lie wet, open
and empty and she has made herself again
out of flesh out of dictionaries,
she is always emptying and it is all
the same wound the same blood the same breaking.
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is it the cut glass
looking up towardthe new gnarled branchof the black manhanging from a tree?is it the white milk pleatedcollar of the womansmiling toward the camera,her fingers loose arounda christian cross droopingagainst her breast?is it all of uscaptured by history into anaccurate album? will we berequired to view it togetherunder a gathering sky?
the time i dropped your almost body down
and run one with the sewage to the seawhat did i know about waters rushing backwhat did i know about drowningor being drownedyou would have been born in winterin the year of the disconnected gasand no carwe would have made the thin walkover the genecy hill into the canada windsto let you slip into a…
My Mama moved among the days
seemed like what she touched was hereseemed like what touched her couldn’t hold,she got us almost through the high grassthen seemed like she turned around and ranright back inright back on in
she
is it any wonderi hunger to tunnel backinside desperateto reconnect the rib and clayand to be whole againsome need is in mestruggling to roar through mymouth into a namethis creation is so fiercei would rather have been born
you are the one
Come with your rodthat twistsand is a serpent.i am the bush.i am burningi am not consumed.
won’t you celebrate with me
a kind of life? i had no model.born in babylonboth nonwhite and womanwhat did i see to be except myself?i made it uphere on this bridge betweenstarshine and clay,my one hand holding tightmy one hand; come celebratewith me that everydaysomething has tried to kill meand has failed.