Monday, August 19, 2013


Already it's late afternoon, and poison calls
to my innards, but instead of going
to its desiccated company,
I expose myself to the purest heat of music,
its beauty not bowing to terror,
the movements that animate my secret ancestry
in the presence of my sex,
my dance unbound and my fervent dark.

Soon the evening will bring
further, more abstract sorrows:
I will miss a woman as if
she walked from within me
and departed with my
greatest offerings, to bury them.
And I will allow all this to happen,
to open a plane of architecture, new
on the face of the earth,
from the one brick
in my belly.

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