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December 17, 2006
e/words (a certain kind of blue)
hooks
strips of brown flesh hang
from stainless steel hooks
left in the sun to toughen like leather straps
her exposed tissue succulent and soft
as she had always been, mostly vulnerable
but she hadn’t asked for any of it
and had grown tired of her brown flesh
peeled away from its frame
by policies and protocols
designed for soul-less bodies who do not cast shadows
she had been filleted well before that summer night
his knife slid swiftly through her muscles—she died on a city street
countless rains can never wash blood off sidewalks
off his, their, our hands
she tried to untether from the machine
her fingers tender from hook pricks
for every hook loosened, another dug deeper
until her pain became an after thought
that she was only reminded of it when she walked in the sun or cried salty tears
the machine is always there
and it drove down the street that night
and it looked for violations
and it found her
and pulled tightly on the line
Posted by emnorris at December 17, 2006 02:11 AM