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love ridden -

my little magpie is choking on morphine.

and when i breastfeed her the five minutes curtain round our naked selves nurses in and out and in and out and....

she clings to me - realizes who i am out of the sea of caretakers - the one whose hair she holds little snapping turtle do not leave me i am so confused and

why....

wretching violent in my loving arms i hold her and i wipe it from her face the portion she cannot take that is less than any normal one would consider hors d' oeuvres.

i am strangely calm. as i always am the days the rain takes hold.

thinking of the nameless one - lost in her again - the one i have never met. i think that i do not understand how one could be so in love still and be left behind - broken. i found that once and left it far behind in my adolescence learning how to pre-emptively become love - ridden and good riddence with my polka dot bag and my tricycle

going home with my marbles in tact.

but they are spilling today and yesterday all over the floor of a narcotic nursery i cannot control this kind of love - it consumes me - and i relent to every torrid inch of this rocky float face down

let it be -

"Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous.

He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae. "

Kurt Vonnegut

US novelist (1922 - )

8:35 a.m. - 2006-08-01
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