Sunday 6/15/2008 12:40:00 AM

Gentle is the anxious skin. Irreversible conditions of the flesh. Faces like ice cream melting. Sticky, sweet dead things luring the scavengers. Doll's eyes and vultures necks. Empty clothes at the foot of the bed paraphrasing the wrench of my toes as I slip into that familiar conundrum of touch. Naked time lines. And the people who would flaunt them.

Not afraid. Not deterred by. Consequence. Weak demons shoving their blunt needles into dead skin. Arguing with puppets. Accusing the stage. Minor treasons in lengthy alibis of men. Weak cures for strong diseases. The tornado of when. I was not alone. Or didn't know how well i was.

I had my gods ready. I had yards of skin to use against them. Negotiate my ideal hell. A carpet of lovers to burn in. And no excuses for anything else.

Cut those strings That make me woman. Sew up this hole to which I am indebted. Dance the puppets in your grip. Spoiling the poison between us.

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