Monday, September 10, 2007


The properties of my flesh intertwine in the invisible worlds encircling the space around my head. You move there, hovering over me with ideas reckless, off the cuff, and dirty. You pull it all in, stroke it with your fingers, calloused and crude, to just let it sift through the spaces in your heart. Tiny seeds of injustice and lust germinate with the electricity coming from your mouth. They are plumped by your tongue, by your blood stained words and grow perfect ecosystems of beasts in brackish waters, forged by money and the filth of man, and you chain me to these possibilities of change with the touch of your hand. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

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