What Goes on in Her Mind?
Stuck between three bodies in a pool of burning patchouli,
Smoky, good, and aching. She's drinking hot elixirs,
Before the statue in her honor with heavy legs, bent knees,
The once god aging, struggling. Her middle carved out,
The rock begins to move and walk with a hole inside her,
Enter the meadows of red poppies and one white daisy,
Here lie the soldiers, here rise the false and flattered women,
With hands loose and skin smooth, breath flows all the way,
Into her abdomen, becoming flesh again, and exploring desire.
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