9.01.2009
Black Widow and White Wood
This morning, I couldn't help but write...
the stumpy legged wolves are at the back door
dense.teeth.fur
chests.hollow.broad
the queen and idiot king killed the mouse on the livingroom floor
agape.horror
blood should be there.instead.fibers tickle their way out
in a pile.coiling and breathing
yarn rolls out.through the door and up the tree
loops around each branch. constricts.suffocated.
they see me now and they loom.waiting
happy to have me.so hospitable
gaping.raw.hungry
what will be the last thing.person.word.i think of in this land
will it be thought? half thought of? will it be the last...
"its a long way to get to the moon"
the doors don't close.but remain.eternally
moldy.humid.and swollen.but not rotten
their tree-fathers still whisper to them
"be patient my child.this was my life--and is--such is yours.
we can't interfere.only suggest.
culture has made them think they have the power of thought."
its always there.trapped in ether.
use fingers.toes.tongues.sharp sticks.rocks
sweet words coaxing.candy coated teeth
bring forth what's your's
break the membrane
filled with colored light
you are filled.utterly stuffed
lips smacking.belly full
Also some craziness...love it!!
©Bridger Clements
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