Oct 19 2005


Published by at 4:31 am under Poetry,Politics

by Sander Roscoe Wolff ©

That’s a fine set of tits, baby!
Nice ass, too.

We know the words too well,
The words that define us,
You and me.

We know the sideways glance,
The quick look slanting down.

The wordless, silent conversion
From human being to thing.

It doesn’t stop there.

We buy the clothes, buy the
Idea that our divine spark
Shines too softly, that our
Natural beauty, our shape,
Color, our eyes can be crafted,
Shifted toward some ideal.

That we want to be something
Other than what we truly are:


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