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Stopped LifeI tamped it down.I stuffed it in an old sock. I wrestled it to a standstill. I said to it: "Hold your horses, Till what's-his-name blows the horn. O.K. Go now. You're a live bronco. Till he ropes you down." I stopped my life for him the god high and lifted up over me. Who would I be if he loved me? Mrs. God? We had no air no free to lounge in a piggy way no free to feed with my piggy teeth full of it no free thing about us all zipped up tied up in how to please his high- ness. I did not believe I was happy or good enough to be my own god. Where was I going? If I could be small enough he might grant favor. He spoke and I slaved I carpeted I sub-sub-sub-served to his feet. "Walk on me. Your life is gold to my dung." If there were love I would be warm-- no chill of the bootroom. But when a man turns on to me and is withholding a switch flips over and I am mousemeat a plate decorated with little berries offering: "Take me" and so he does. Why not it's free |
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Issue #6, January, 1999 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.