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Wednesday, August 22, 2007

But Lola, why can't I be naked?
Air like leaves on
my skin. The world
my barong, scent of
lavender and not concrete
between the toes.
I fly free as a kite
goose-fleshed at dawn
dew-streaked, sun-played
zen-mind, head as
raw as an onion,
nestled in dirt, my bones
draped in multi-layered
pedicures of a thousand
forms of feet on my flesh
flesh on feet, flesh as feet
sucking reality through every
pore, walked by gravity
my belly earth-suckled
my thigh earth-swaddled
my hair earth-combed
with my ego as big
as a bee, humming
inside the nectar
like a mountain
unclothed.

- by jim perkinson, Noah's uncle,
current houseguestpoet, tethered to
sis Lily.

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