May 19, 2013
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From old meat and lichen we are born
pale, slim, and without cavity,
each a green mouth balanced
on a little green throat,
fed through our toes
off the alkaline blood of the earth.
Come spring, we adolesce into new geometry;
our faces explode, release packets
of itching, stinging atoms
to be taken by the precarious air,
without farewell, to their natural course.
They go unnoticed,
setting down our seeds
into the soil’s warm belly,
while we, betrayed
by our emptied wombs’ blossoming,
are collected
to languish on the nightstands
of would-be brides.

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