Saturday, November 26, 2005


How on earth can I be expected
to write when my brain is
Liquid and running
in a tight spiral by the droplet
down my brain stem
and into the fluid around my spinal cord.
It oozes out somewhere
in my upper thoracic vertebrae
and creates for itself a groove
down my collarbone where
it finally insinuates
it's grey-oil self
into the marrow of my first three ribs.
It distills there and slips
creamy white into the tissue
of each breast.
Fills ducts and becomes
food for thought
in bright streams
down my newborns throat.


The Daring One said...

This seems mighty familiar.

Anonymous said...

Love this Bon!!


for Joke! said...

That sounds... descriptive... ummm... feel better?

Heather said...

And you rule, have I mentioned that? So, lady, email me at mmeclark at yahoo dot com, and we must chat about my secret plan.