speaking of whom
have cut off the womb
spread the foolish loops
clipping the clues
different from whom
gave us the sprouts
stopped us from doing round
enlarging our wounds
already known
for his nameless source
of infinite manequines
of separate happenings
but whose
the one who we lost
the one that we loved
the one who will cost
same as your friends
same as your golden hands
same as your sands
same as your lashed dance
got ya dere
