I want to sit on your brain -
Make love to your cerebellum. Hell, I'm
already strong - swinging from synapses
hung from broken family trees. Please

let me sit on your brain while the words
float through shards of stained glass memories.
I want to stave off the sadness long enough
to let the beauty sift through. I want to
dance the tango with your metaphors and inject
images of you deep below my skin and when
that woman in the dark dress tries to cut in,
I will say, "this dance card is full, girl."

"You best go back to where you came from!"
because beauty and life are waiting in line
and there's a little boy with a bow and arrow
who deserves a clear shot.

So you better step aside and let them take her
in their arms, because she deserves to dance free.
I've seen her move like mercury - silver liquid
flowing from her fingers and toes until

the heavy lead settles in to the souls
of her feet. And I want to be the metal worker
to melt the steel sadness - forge statues
from the scrap, make art installations out of the anger

and erect them on the other side of the tracks
where the train races like heroine
through a needle and the graffiti answers
questions screamed in to the night.

And we will scream into the night.
And we will scream the darkness right out of her.
And we will scream into tunnels
with blackness that hurts our eyes.

And we will scream until the echo
disappears from her bones,
until the nuts and bolts
disintigrate from her spleen.

And we will scream until
the tuning fork in her head
stops vibrating, disappears,
and leaves a soft seat for me.

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