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Saturday, April 1, 2017

You go back to get your holy things when your skin has greater part sun than air, and stop touching your bitter friends

You go back to get your holy things when your skin has greater part sun than air, and stop touching your bitter friends

Two-shaped ivy-covered. Two times, three times
kindred feast / eat something like a zipper,
and watch yourself come back to life. Whose.
Whose door is guarded by sea-bird and sea-witch
and whose sea legs froth your skin kick to shore

or

I wasn’t a sea creature, nor drowned, was lover
I came to the sea and / demanded entry
to the borderless because / it shifts it isn’t
territory. I asked to leave my nation state. I asked
to be bride-dissolved. I asked to be sick and then /
         well, on shore.

or

I couldn’t explain that my heart was a hospital
in a hospital gown in a hospital I couldn’t explain
that pain was sex and you had both, two-shaped,
when you had me. I couldn’t explain what I had /
done with that. Done with the way I had to encounter

my name Nadja shaped on the public tongue. Or

my actual name. I left my holy things at the pelvic
ridge and climbed over and kept everyone alive
with my ability to turn flesh to milk. I was not /
considered holy then it was obvious I was just
doing my job. Who got your hot spirit embodied

and who cooled you off with materialism? It wasn’t /

me, I came in on a raft, or I dove off the prairie, or I, I
swam all those miles to the sea there wasn’t a single sea
I passed through every gatehouse and checkpoint each time
my heart lonely whale in a terrified bone cavern, wet
starved out, strung up, there was so much air and so / little
oxygen, I breathed you in through a golden straw

I spun your hair to gold to reed to straw how pliant my tongue I sucked 

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