It is like this

July 28, 2009
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you wish for the knuckles of mountains
soft skin clinging to a skeleton of knives
you cannot stand the way you swell on hot days,
sick of seeing the world through a layer of warm fat.
the way your legs look when crossed has lost it's elegance,
your boneless back, hideous.
you fall asleep gnawing
your tongue, wake up to find someone has filled your stomach
with flowers in the night. great fields of yellow
spanning your scapula. baby's breathe peeking
from every orifice. you wish to be inside out for a day,
pick at the weedy weight of your intestines.
you wish to see every woman naked.
find at least three with your exact kneecaps.

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