That which inside of me screaming beating about for exit or entry names the wind, wanting winds’ voice wanting winds’ power it is not my heart and I am trying to tell this without art or embellishment with bits of me flying out in all directions screams memories old pieces of flesh struck off like dark bark from a felled tree, bearing up or out holding or bringing forth child or demon is this birth or exorcism or the beginning machinery of myself outlining recalling my father’s business – what I must be about my own business minding.Shall I split or be cut down by a word’s complexion or the lack of it and from what direction will the opening be made to show the true face of me lying exposed and together my children your children their children bent on our conjugating business.
Audre Lorde That which is inside screaming, beating about for exit or entry wanting the winds’ voice wanting the winds’ power wanting the wind to carry me, carry you, carry us to a common place a place of beauty and serenity a safe place, a place for my children your children their children.
What’s up family? It’s been a while, hope all is well. Peace Tenthltr2u