all things historical stay in my flesh toned
casket. where i move furniture
through empty rooms-
each glimmer the wink of a splinter
each splinter the brand of my kind.
my hand leaves five times
two. i awake and each finger
swollen in it's casing
calls Autoimmune! Arthritis! Multiple
in their fat backed piggy voices.
the silent pinpricks blood-let
( 0 was the man who began her
she added him over time )
here: how chaos theory
came to squall along the river-vein.
one fire for the free,
one fire for the caged:
one illuminates, one destroys.
i must make it with both.
now to the time moon clock
against my breast, or my lower intestine.
i am not afraid of these images.
i could have been a surgeon
or a pornographer.
( 0 was the man who carved her.
she whittled over time.)
maggie may ethridge