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Sunday, January 1, 2017

She’s a boon to my spirit 1/1/17

welcome to the fashionable sleeve
of the heart that wears the blood
from the mind-blade of her own self paradox,
gushing from the inside out.
know her, that she kisses from the spirit
as she curses from the mouth.
she eats cause-worthy as essential crumbs
from a constant meal of observation,
for an emotional hunger that never ends.
fall onto her blade
and she will privately caress where you then bleed
but dam you into your sainthood.
she is the sex of all time,
but never to evidently appear as worldly.
she has a closet full of worn-out values,
is a clotheshorse of disgust,
lives the fashion of cheap thrills revisited,
and is a blacksmith of the eternal search.
she is the endless perpetual observer.
she has undefined sharpness within
before she had use of the knife of herself.
she has a love for power in service,
on bended knee attending.
she is a monolith of closed mouth,
the power of sight, full of secrecy,
dressed warmly in the stoic of herself,
yet comforting to others all around,
with the eyes of a watercolor adversary
peering onto a canvass of loving means.
she stands up for justice
until her authenticity enters the room.
there, she kneels in all honesty,
to be bladed beyond her beliefs. 
she is in all ways, searching for,
where beauty has no master,
sight has no religion
and the god of ever-changing-ness
blesses the context of her on-going-ness
unconditionally for her to further ponder.
birthing herself, every moment anew
(but none of it, ever forgotten),
as she is, a boon to my spirit,

to have come to know . . .

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