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Undreaming
Hunter MacKenzie She is killing me again twice-over, this time Sleight-of-hand, artful, she dodges, slips her blues for my reds Feeds my head Cools my brain-burn Hazy compliance, digressions of disorientation flow from my tongue like blood from a-- Good god, woman, you've cut me (not that I felt it) and how did I miss that? and how I did miss you and this too and I too shall pass in a flash (slipping) of light-slivered metallic precision (slipping) Twin incisions (slipping) Anaesthesia and fine blades (slipping) How perfect, how did I never think of it Of course, you are a goddess omniscience in the genes fearsome in your jeans And it's all perfectly right and all perfectly painless every time she kills me But where is the blood? it's all gone to my head all in my in your undreaming. The color of death is not pitch-black as commonly conceived Not goodguy lovelight-white It is fog-silver, quicksilver lining every cloud and casket As an oyster glimpses its own interior and thinks it the world until the shell cracks the sky opens and the undreaming begins. © Copyright 2005 by Hunter MacKenzie |