inspired by audre lorde

do we write things
that we know
we will

why give our memories
a place to die

these scars
things i cannot change
stripes on my skin
(on the page pens scrape sharp as teeth)

in a forest
where i fiercely

the tiger's kill
moans and swells
always a sound sleep
in a silent stalked grass
atop a green blushing hill

belly full
and howling moon
trees hold a solemn silence

pieces of my ear
tossed into the mouths of wolves
scent lost in the wind

under the shroud of night
a naked body wrestles in the sheets
a distant trail of ants converge over the hill
a claw uncurls into the sky
lamps flicker:eyes open

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