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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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What is Poetry? Part 2

 

What is Poetry? – Part 2

Poetry is the forsaken cry, the loneliest voices with the loudest minds,
captured in ink, blighted by drink, or bolstered,
emboldened with the bravado to think big,
to sing on a page,
to rage against the silence of days
spent drifting through the passive malaise,
the love of something and not for how it pays.

Poetry is the air up there, despair in the mind of a scribe
at not being able to fly, so it is
the flight of birds described by those who live in unknowns
to those who dream of being free.
Poetry is anything between a sucker punch or a long lunch,
a coupe de grace or a warm embrace.
It’s the lines of life in a face,
the wrinkled space between
never and eternity.