grew a poisonbush
but Blake was wrong
he couldn't stomach the wrath
it spilled its iridescence
his own primitive taste
on a flat plane of concrete
like an old solid window
confused with the floor
and she saw, she did, her
in her guise of happenings
her swollen maternity
salty and thirsty and hot
caked with waterless sweat
she looked
and the column of his anger
excited her.
that night he was hers
in the bed of humanity
the child howling
displaced
slept on the floor of the Earth.
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