January 2011
12 posts
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Pale-skinned Witness
Pale-skinned witness, the men are singing so stamp bell-ridden to cradle song, you Six Nation women. I am you and not you. But Namegiver she love me as if I were not so white. His fingers, he love me to darkness. Like striking clangbang rumblerattle feet drum in my dust I live! I eat! The men who wrote me voracious never knew living so consumed.
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—- One of my daily drabbles, or...
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Sorry, T. || Brenda Shaughnessy
Sorry, T.
but I’m a ghost. Do you understand that the person you love is fleshy and heavy from hip to boot to make up for this? There’s a name for it: Brenda, but I can’t fool everyone. Even if I have convinced you, and I don’t bruise easily, that I am yours to strong-arm and throttle. Even when you force me to become of this world—of this cold floor. I can do so...
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