Sunday, October 18, 2020

Womanist Or Feminist Or Both?

 

true fire or truer lies a life spent. so cured in forgiveness so extracted from mud so many excruciating lies. or love like flame so addictive it hurts so explosive we cringe. to die in you to live in you such surefire execution. our children our laughs to need this life. by dust by dirt by disaster. such thick skin such a rubber-band or secure in something insecure; by intruders by rage by giggles as knowing essence. so close to his heart so much a friend while secure in something in-excellent. those flowers or more specific those begonias—those weeds while wrapped around some seahorse. by gravel by winds to become endearing. its hourglass its pantomime or its soot, cave, of shelter. to lose you to need you despite such desperation. to love or such tears while we need to protect you; so often so true, for it hurts so badly. our aches our lakes while she never smiled so loudly. its countenance as it lives where it was surefire darkness. to become beautiful as all over again while some are so dedicated; a whisper here, a chat there, such devastation but consensual. so uncured so nervous so silent. to see in excellence to paint a fern or a face scratched by paint. such flinching. it wasn’t before. while seized to see his face. a failure in us a dream for solace while seated, so depressed, without a word to share. by gut to prevail by hells to unravel or so cut it’s hard to sing. as a woven creature so much a dear creature, maybe unfaithful but truly reliable. such walks at lunch such meditation so alive in somber shadows. to purchase a daisy to purchase a feeling while scared to have become detached—from mind from emotion from body. such a Womanist, such an answer in Feminism, while against an action in faces; sure certain poverty—of soul or art—or elixir. so rethreaded so sincere but one mistake—as cultured peasants or outlandish Irishmen or a German woman; to toil unsteadily to crave relentlessly so there but body is shorn apart. those frosty aches those frothy lies where it makes sense to protect something innocent. 

pledged as a survivor such lost angels sure into warfare—baffled or undercut such underbrush—as firebrand so to kindle at a puddled sensation. a bowl of rice an older terror while so self-refused. by unclear rules or too rapid in course, those standards. so much we live as souls so much we abide so threshed by our conviction.    

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...