woman
© 1999 Devon Koren

she think/say/do
there isn't a woman like her
she bottled up the continium
and put freedom on hold
(the red light is flashing)

she wild/crazy/free
only termites have such will as she
to burrow through to the core of things
and see right through
(to apple you)

she high/kite/sky
her fingers simply aren't long enough
she stretched out her body size
by holding onto both ends of the horizon
when the sun comes up

she mother/daughter/sister
though not necessarily in that order
there are ties that bind, the pleasant chains
to wrap around a spirit's neck
and she's got enough love, and she picks them up from school
(and she's *not* turning blue)

she old/young/new
bubbles in teeth, oak in toe
there's a root, like an infection
like a tuber (tumor) the soil swallows her
whole
(she only makes flowers, no fruit)

she like/love/hate
a victim of passion and pomegrantes
stapled to the underworld
on three little seedling promises
(she misses the sun)

she wolf
she sea
she goddess
there is nothing beneath the flatuence of toes
she cannot touch
or at least sing about
she transcended the highest threshold of pain
on the crescendo of an open scream
there is nothing she cannot do
(or at least dream about)