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November 02, 2004 - 4:14 p.m.

Rocking on my hands
Feet weighted
Less my mind
Ache and arch, move the e, add an are
And I am only, the sum of all my parts
Brain buzzing low,
The racing sound of dirty mind, slippery hands-
Bearing truth of what my mind turns out
Churning,
Releasing, inaudibly, into pillows
Muffling, pillow talk, confessions
Rhythmic and truthful
I become the girl,
A girl, some other girl�
And always myself, representing
No one and all the people I am
Undoing
Myself
In the tangle of these sheets
Oh Jesus,
And Pat Parker said it well
When she wondered, frustratedly,
Why some other fucker always gets the credit for the things a woman has done well.
Herself. Well done.
Spent.

 

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