Stone Age HAA The Holy MAA

Stone Age HAA The Holy MAA

Writing - Noise - Magic

Monday, June 9, 2014

CALL IT


If it’s rugged could you call it. A bird cage. The sun beat like it wasn’t new. The dusty hawks stood still. Red-Tailed. With shoulders. Fat bee and bee things kicked up in our ears and (under our skirts). The sun shocked our skin that was and wasn’t new. Secret corners bore mammals with backs curled up escape. At last responsibility—vanquished. Vanished. Banished mammals with useless stink glands. Feathering. Drugged on rugged cage. I held my daughter at angles—telling her animal names. Pulling her close from dusty stone eyes. Hawks and turkeys. Tiny waterfall so ornamental by rugged hawk cages. The animals turn to the wall and rest, relieved. At last, the animals say,—Nature vanquished.

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