10.09.08 - 5:02 p.m.

We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.

Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.

I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?

i'd like to get a house on the cape with marge piercy and mary oliver. we'd eat whole fruit on the wraparound porch, chins dripping with juice. we'd wear broomstick skirts and swear off the real world.

oh, marge piercy you are always killing me!
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the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

this american life

the library of congress

i used to believe







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