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tell me about the other red things,
cherries, sprayed to
look fresh
in the grocer's,
blood, simple or
complicated,
certain
flowers.
that dream lady
does
pretend to be young.
tell me what
happened never happened,
it's not
true
because you
say it's not true,
tell me
who owns this story.
do I
have to leave her
to become part of
her mythology,
to enter
a woman is to enter her
myth, to enter
her myth is to
enter her thighs, to
enter her
thighs is to be her
myth, to be
her myth is to enter her.
tell me
about the other
red things, about fruit
flowers
the kinds of blood
we speak about,
some times
at night when our voice is low.

Jesse Weiner

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