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Poem

This Week They Killed Your Best Friend in a Church While He Prayed, Although Many Could Save Your Life He Was The Only One that Would

Now is the time
when they are deciding
who will decide
who owns your body.
If you are not a man or a child or a virgin
you are a cruise ship, or your body
is a cruise ship and you
are the captain and if
the ship goes down
so will you.

They decide
if tiny people can kill you.
You might have thought, oh yay, finally,
my tiny person is coming
only to discover they will
brutalize you.
The undertaker will have to stuff you
so you won't look caved in for your casket

though you don't have to die, you could maybe
keep your body a little longer--

your body, whose job
you thought it was
to keep you alive
and take you to work
this body which is all
you know has been lying to you.
It is not yours. It never was.
It is somebody else's, or could be
just like that. And whether that person
is alive, or will be for long your body,
your long lost first love or your hated enemy,
your spare tire, your jiggly thighs,
your pert nipples, they are
a life-support machine. Your blood,
your liver, your heart, your lungs--
they are a boat on a river.
To keep it all afloat they
will make cuts in you, they
will tear you open
like a cheap envelope.
Maybe they will put you back together,
but the final piece
death will keep for herself,
that bitch, she has owned you
all along
and your body, which would so like
to be beautiful and to create beauty,
will be an empty, sad thing,

and you will have nothing
but your luscious, meaty anger--











Dr. Tiller Murdered the Week Pro-Choice Supreme Court Judge nominated.
http://www.kentucky.com/181/story/814086.html

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