My ideals were offended in bloody underwear.
A red shadow only stretches after women and death.
And they said "baby"
until it moved up under my ears
and bloomed an apple blossom,
as if blood made apples,
as if blood made petal clusters to hang above babies.
What are women and death
that they should drain so?
The things they treasure, they hide.
may 12. 08
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