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YesMeansYes

It’s not perfect. There are a couple of essays in here that I wasn’t feeling and the faux-blog format acts to divide it a little too much,

but this is an IMPORTANT book. This is a crucial book. This book starts a number of conversations that need to be had on a massive scale.

My mental energy is currently overtaken by some recent events in my life, but I do plan to discuss this book in depth soon. I’m throwing this post up as a reminder to myself to do that.

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Can’t Title It.

Mark insults words, taking them for granted.

Words, glorious words

and I realize they’re like kin to me. An incestuous lover.

Words are the cousin I romped with in the barn,

hay in the crack of my ass and skin tingling against the scrape of peeling splinters and mars rust

from bent nails just holding

Tinkling out of the wall with a light breeze or the catch of curling, lust-moistened hair.

The clatter of a paint pail, the wheeze of intaken breath in patterns of centralized, circular pleasure

clit clit clit clit

hit hit hit hit hit a dull thud against these sturdy crumbling walls [the dust hanging down between rafters and sunbeams]

grasping, swinging from these old tool hooks and scraping us to bleeding with ecstasy

smearing on the floor, mixing in with the dirty dust animal feces ground there from boots, hooves, and years

Words are gasping against beads of sweat forming on raised follicles

Words are tonguing my ear seductively

running fingertips on areolas which bump in response

Words have stubble and act ROUGH.

Words stare me down. Unabashedly from across the long picnic table. Past paper plates of chicken and pink lemonade in a picture like a Chinet commercial.

These dagger eyes sending ‘lectric in my direction, flying over open faces, laughing eyes of our relatives.

Words stare unabashedly, corn dangling from chin and hands wet with lickin’. Our aunts and our uncles gabbering on so ignorant of the thrush creeping up from my breast, pink over my collar bones.

“I knowed what I done was wrong.”

me and words in that creaking, must-filled barn.

But I love words the way I love that incestuous cousin

Purely, hotly, dirtily

Greedily.

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