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Native Oval

I swear! It’s as if John Wilkes Booth is now in The Oval… Too much of a coward to fight for the cause; believing in white supremacy, though not willing to lace up his boots or even don a white hood. He’s got a pistol in his pocket though. (And an amendment to back it up – alongside so many regrets, so many insecurities). I wonder what they do in there? In that sweaty pocket of heavy punk-assness… Do they lie next to each other and touch when they think everyone is asleep? The pistol, the regrets, the insecurities… I bet you two silver dollars that the loaded bullets of the latter two shoot further than the aforementioned. Banking on the inattention and lethargy provoked by watching ‘Our American Cousin’ in church-like pews. Clap! For an actor named Booth! After all, the shots sounded so…real!

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Penny with a (w)hole

Sing to me the song your mirror sings
Of copper tones
Flesh and bones
Of spirited, clipped wings
Of vinyl and aluminum
Can you fit your fingers in?
The two holes of the cassette tape?
The rod stem of the woodwinds?
They say a penny with a hole in it
Still plays a tune
If you dare to position your needle
On its bleeding wound
Tell me, do you prefer an audience?
Or an empty room?
Dare to tell them…at the very least
The bullet pierced right through
The music that raised us
Required human touch
Forbidden love…sweaty, gutsy lust
Yeah, sing to me that song
Like only you can
It’s your mirror after all
Your weekend. Your man.
Everyone is sharing this weekend with you
Looks like they’re sharing him too
But they can’t share the whiny croon…
…of the mirror image
That looks back at you
Only your soul
Can sing that tune

 

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Mine

She gave away her heart like broken pieces of raw diamond in a jewelry store.  He’d saved up enough over the years to buy the ultra-diamond.  The diamond of all diamonds.  He wasn’t looking for just a piece.  He’d sacrificed long and hard for the whole thing.  She watched him in anticipation as he walked throughout the jewelry store.  Certain that he’d choose the bigger, prettier, unbroken diamond that glittered and shone masterfully.  Wholly.  She was surprised when he picked her up and paid for her outright.  With the contents of his satchel…

Where he kept

All of her

Broken

Pieces.

you. you are a diamond. in the rough. but. a diamond. sho-nuf! some. will look at you. seeing only your brokenness. one. thee one. will know your wholeness. giving credit. to what it took. to break you. be a gem.

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A Soul Sold-Out

I ask, “What happens to a soul sold?”

Perhaps it opens wide
Like a galaxy from beyond our grasp
Mending great divides…
Clutching inequality fast
Does it constantly question its value?
Look for receipts…in seats
Labeled ‘white attributes…
…Only’? Does it compare itself to free?

Maybe it attaches its virtue
To cowhides and ‘Becky(s) with good hair’

Maybe it’s blissfully
Ignorantly
Richly
Unaware?

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Once Broken Twice Mine (and 2 heavy 2 hold)

He wanted me to fit inside. Wanted to carry me everywhere he went – have my cycle sync with one who does not have one. And I really did try. You gotta believe me. I tried! One foot in; then a shoulder. A hand pushing aside one vital organ after another…to make room for the entire weight of me. I spoke softly to his heart, Continue reading Once Broken Twice Mine (and 2 heavy 2 hold)

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Holy Water

Him: Babe. Does water thirst?
Her: Sure. Of course. Water thirsts. Everything thirsts.
Him: I don’t think so. I think that it is attracted to dry things. That it gravitates toward areas of drought. But thirst and gravitation are not the same. Only porous entities thirst.
Her: An intact vessel. Water thirsts…for holy grails with no holes. Trust me on this one.

 

When he speaks

My vagina spills, pours, gives

Sacred water

When he speaks

I never spill

In vain

Woman? The vessel?

No.  You are mistaken

The woman is the living waters

Thirsting for

Her one true holy grail

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Let Her Fall

Just maybe when you fall.  This time.

There will be beds of cloud-like linens.

A sea of infinite warm goodness.

Maybe this time.  When you fall.  Softness awaits.

And the cross you bear will be of Balsam Popular.

And sticky sweet molasses.

Instead of Ironwood and nails.

Maybe.  This time.

 

Photography by Clarke Sanders

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At My Best…IDFWU

You were a lesson
Who I was not afraid to choose
And at my best, I’m never really
Afraid to lose
Because through loss
We all gain perspective
So, you were a choice
And I? Well, I was selective
You were never a mistake
Just a divine option…
I was brave enough to make

Continue reading At My Best…IDFWU