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CG

offline 1 friend
joined on 07/14/05
last updated 10/01/09
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La mujer..

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Humbled...

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the Secret

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Womyn's Meditation

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Speak

When i tell you of my journey
i shall wish for my words
to be as pure as my pain
as real as my pain
only far more beautiful--
beauty like every mirror
has ever failed to show me.
You will know, when i speak
of loneliness, that i wish for
unimaginable peace
of misunderstanding
to flow through you like liquid.
I shall bleed my words to you
and i will ask you to please
ignore the tear stains
while I wish with gratitude
for peace
to swoop in and reshape
my memories
my ... read more
Wed, September 30, 2009 - 7:27 PM permalink - 0 comments
 
how can i explain my silence
when i don't dare speak to you?
Fri, September 11, 2009 - 9:56 PM permalink - 0 comments
 
The problem is not so much the secret now
but whether the telling
would sear like rape itself.
The question is not what happened, or when,
but whether a child's hearing truly could cut
through lineolium and lies.
A woman cannot remember
whether the muffled voices
were quiet speaking,
or strange laughter--
sort of like choking.
She thinks the light
was a pale yellow buzzing,
that the toilet beside her kept running,
that there was a tangle in the length
of her wet sticky hair.... read more
Wed, September 9, 2009 - 9:36 PM permalink - 0 comments
 
My words clot at the surface
a scabbed over sealed tight lid
that lets nothing seep out.
Wisps of creativity
waver and wane
eventually charred by
the red lava glowing
inside me,
in my darkness.
White powder like snow
puts out the fire,
but the snow
is perscription inertia,
and the fire is lifelight.
This is the last gasp
before fading. This
is the bubbles in the brine.
This is the first chance
my imprisoned voice has
had to escape, and this
is its dismal outcry.
Sun, September 6, 2009 - 5:34 PM permalink - 0 comments
 
the cold southwest wind whipped and whisteled today
as the setting sun freckeled the canyon.
i stood above a sudden cactus flower, spinning
and shotguns echoed in the distance

you were on the east coast
and i was watching this woman i know
fall to her knees for a man who most likely
never loved her. i watched her bleed, red

as the rooster's waddle. in her eyes
i saw a mamma goat kick away
her own kid. the illusion of your silhouette
was the calm shade of a summer willow

... read more
Sat, April 29, 2006 - 8:34 PM permalink - 2 comments
 
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Three Words...