Holy sac
of bone and blood, beats like a hip-hop song
in the attic: I am the lyric
carried down through the vents, repeating itself over and over. Not what it used to be, having seen twice the scenes, expanded twice the times in breath and pain,
I find it each morning
with surprise--my body, holy as stone, softens with time: becomes more and more cave like.
Let's make a place of my body:
here is home for my lover to write
on walls. I'm talking carving, I'm talking home for
her to lay her heavy, heavy everything and dissolve:
swaddled. Skin-- scarred no matter, color no matter
keeps my insides in, holds me in shape of a woman ready
to love the world and hate it too, equipped with eyes, tongue let's
meet there lover and make her dance. Make her naked, make
eyes rattle, bones bend. Let's fold and crinkle her in all the places
and get her wet. My body is a place waiting for you to enter, Lover,
turn on lights and music when you come, for it grows so quiet without you.
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