"The Naked Lady"

Jeffrey Bourbeau


A river blesses this valley. Red like a miracle it comes from the God within.
It is the wasted touch of my heart. I swear into mirrors that love isn't real.
I feel like the empty jars inside everyone else. The void deep and lonesome
we grow up through and spit out. Like a plant from a seed. I undress and stare and stare.

My bones are like dust. My skin is like rot. My organs create, like all others, a life's
blood necessity for human creation. Successfully failing to ever seduce, my wasted
remains lay like fermenting produce. My hair, old hay, my face, tree bark.

I bend here and there to distort my perceptions. By doing so I hope to play a
number in my head different from what God is spinning. My record is broken.
My ears are wide open but I'm sick of hearing all these colorless voices.
I hope to escape like pollen on the wind. Drown me.


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