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Saturday, April 8, 2017

I turned 30 in wartime I turned 40 in wartime stay you irritate my heart with distance until it cums a sheet of pearls and moor's breath in a dry clime I bedeck you

I turned 30 in wartime I turned 40 in wartime stay you irritate my heart with distance until it cums a sheet of pearls and moor's breath in a dry clime I bedeck you

Trade my centaur in the garden for Minotaur on cliffs and my mirrors for shards kicking 
sunlight up from rocks below, mixed rust media and things we chucked there dead to us 
from their final starpit expiration merciless between my ribs golden barb enters me or enters 
the room through me how'd we / get inside? I don't know if it'll pierce you too, thick hide fur and muscle bound like a book of the dead smells lush and smart in the bombed out desert 
library but look and look there the center of the lyric reflects your horns, carved calcium-ridged 
rings smoke-blackened your dusking horns I don't know if they'll / pierce me /
I'm done being whole

 reflected / center, pupils askew, some harmony leaking a wetter lilt
my lips gone mythored as kill beach gloss promise Byronic and vampy era promisc up in here
my face a lyric ode to gutter chance. Bull-faced firestarter you know
my bones, my flesh weeps over them a processional today we round up the years
to 40 40 million rocks now hard things once were disparate movements electric horizon
cunning / cunningly thread an old name into autocorrect teach your phone to bone
a god and wait here for his reply. His god-hung bull-faced legacy cruises
the knowing wet field. When you start your hymn Dear Bra, when you start
your hymn what up you start to say I just can't get enough so push
it / into me / 

or

this astralwoven spike juts out my ribcage but it isn't bloody it isn't fingered
glows an organ of ever more outer space receiver of exile, sorrow, a refugee homing 
devise saying I'm not your home I'm trying / to get better at things I list the shell reports
for my sons and daughters, I got you into this, you've bombed them I lift /
the hide on the day and usher everyone under huddle here in anthroanimalia in body warmth 
or in the flow of heat from warm body to cool put a vata in charge and you'll get what you pay 
for a hot / pulse across mountain's white fever pulse descend cliffs visible alteration heat and pressure washing scree
I in the horned god's eyes heal him / with salt it stings like new again sting 
your shaft or sting the open mine or sting the mineral deposits until lit they light your bull's face / I don't have any incense I didn't put that guy's number in my phone who am I to press
a moth's wing to dust and lace my lips and part my lips as I have / always
done this, not a girl or daughter, not a pain goes by that is every day on the road
the reluctant persistent road to the sea or to the hospital that everyone even
the ferryman himself gone travel 

or

I won't tell you which mirror is yours. Check between brides' thighs a pagan searchandrescue check
your torn to ribbon-bleeding pockets give me all your money and the dash in your car 
says midnight the road carries foot traffic beasts and speed. How fast sea to cliff to moor to me? 
A nursery rhyme warning warming wartime tattle. He's coming fast and you won't feel 
shame. The ring through your wet snout hooked to my clit and spite was split from me

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