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Ointment from the womb,
honey of mother.  Earth's cradle
spat out by volcanic matter.
Nourish the air, this vessel,
and the truth in all ways.
Keep from hiding a firm walk,
pock the sun with keen glasses,
fuck like a frog in a snowglobe city
bring heat to the unlit villages
hidden there in terror, stash fury
in the light of action,
gashed open by silver dictionaries
bleeding organic kisses in flunked rain.