…as they kissed they filled each other with oranges/and bits of cotton fluff fell from their mouths…

…only blues big enough/to carry sins a man/ain’t got back enough/to bear himself…

I like your glittering eye,/ your quiet eye.

Perhaps anger is the body’s new language for tenderness./Perhaps tenderness simply refers to the depth of the wound.

Were you the one that broke me/or did I come to you with cracks,/no glue?

You this big thick chunk/in my heart/You a dog ripping/meat from a bone/You fire/in my ear.

Men knew how to love then./I could coax fists into slick/flame trailing down a woman’s/back.

There is something strange clawing/at her, excavating her belly,/birthing inside her/a tiny devouring tongue.

…good blues is when/chord & gut jump/over tongue, teeth/cause they seen too much,/got too full//to tell the truth

The Blues sit in ovaries, worrying.