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Harvesting the Moontime

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I will allow you this once to claim
things you are incapable of comprehending

to boast from the cracks in the pavement
of your underlines

I, the seekless, am restless enough
with limbs too long and

I, the groundless, am vast
enough to allow the residual
echo to find its blind way
through the caverns of
my inside

though your virtue has long been absent.


Baby girl is growing gone


I concede body part after body part
in the name of lifetime longing
for the sisters tress

my sisters, I abandoned the belly, and
for the sisterhood, I abandon sable

instinct to bear teeth

in the kneed hope that softness
will be found in thy communal brow.

Allow me the penitence – I
possess the sickness of the sorrow –
to claim the solace of
my baby’s womb: distended

she is taut with the foresight of mistake
and the rising of atmosphere
contains your endless form.


Baby girl, grow toward me and the surpassed.


When the orange trees come crawling
back, I will call you home.

Inside the royalty of orchids and cobalt,
I wait for the fullness to bring us together.





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