Danse Novembre

I apologize for the nature of my gender and its inherent offenses.

For example, right now as you are speaking, my eyes capture your mouth
most closely. I am simply inadequate to uphold any standards of decency or
politeness.

On a good day, there are buffalo on an immense prairie of which I am a part, concurrently
a man standing and watching things pass, listening to the flow of moving water.

I want to trample and shit on all things corporate (APPLAUSE).

I wonder if the footsteps of a herd are a raindance of sorts; if fear of god is a
survival strategy, if the earth will overheat, flood, and scourge this influenza
from its body, if there is sex after death?

I am an ape up on a cross. I break people apart. Once on my plate I gingerly separate. Sawing limbs and bones, making pieces littler, until a horde of commonalities move in the firey dance of neurons.

And as your lip curls up I can't help but think about how it feels on the inside.

I'm on my knees when falling is an unfashionable exercise. I can smell the rotten meat in your teeth. But really, I'm standing here alone -feet wet.