“Now where are you?” turning around. “Death. . . where is your
hat? Your fire? Your tail?” “Why did you come here today?” “Do you need a lesson about Victory or do you want me to comb your hair?” “Are you in need of a new hat?”
“Are you going to respond . . . or not?” “ARE YOU HERE TO TAKE THIS SHADOW?” She closes her eyes. Death intrigues her. Death is a seed now. This body of water
is loving lavender. The death’s skull contains great substance now. The Icaco plants don’t
die even though the darlings are dying on the street on IC -20/20 near Estes. She starts
a chant ~~~
“Why do some people have sight but can’t seie the beauty in patience” “Men. Men –beheaded” “The purple babies who live in the land need to be revived later next spring” “She doesn’t want to wear her silver necklace with the coca leaf pendant from Peru
to a bloody wedding” “Can you read letters?” “Clean the book shelves like no other” “Read E. Bishop & dry peach roses in May” “I need a bicycle” the death sings ~~~ “My feet are not running fast enough”
she seems to hear in panic. “Death doesn’t know me. No one does” she has trouble hearing now. Later alone she sits on the floor by a chair and sings ~~~ “ I am
cleaning . . . cleaning a body with an encounter ─this body becomes what it truly is.” A fluid of love ~~~ always taking her away from her practices and filling her up with poetry.
