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The Body
The body knows what?
how to ovulate, masturbate, cry
how do decorate itself
in tattoos and eye shadow
how to breakout
breakdown and
break in a new love

The body is smart
stupid, decrepit
culprit of desire

The body is essentially
yours for the time being
until it is swept away
by eons of dust and dreams

The body is
all knowing, all forgiving
memory of itself
mirrored back by old photos

The body is
self-hating self-loathing
over eating vessel of bewilderment
under the sublime control of grey matter

The body is yours
love it,hate it, enjoy it,
it is the only one we get
at least in this lifetime


The other day I lost a poem,
a silly trying to be serious poem about whores raging in the ocean
I wrote it as a tribute to my menstrual cycle
the moans of whores
whores moans
moaning whores
“angry sluts of the sea” I called them
really they are just me
whoring about
moaning and groaning as I creak into my late 30’s almost 40’s
grey hairs wiry whips-intact and shredding my credibility
with the teens I counsel about sex and other topics
they can’t talk about with their parents, boyfriends etc.

Today while driving I rode past where I work
people were protesting with crosses and rosary beads
and big pictures of the virgin mary
it was cold, they were cold
I wanted to shout
“what’s so bad about birth control?”
but I didn’t
I might be a raging whore
but I am not yelling at freezing people who are praying to jesus about
the pill and perhaps a new pair of boots and warm mittens.
Let them freeze maybe when they go home to thaw they will talk to their daughters about sex
so I don’t have to.