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Sunday, December 31, 2006

OUR LADY OF THE FLOWERS
by Suzanne Stein
for stephanie young
(also for david buuck, & david becker)



as treasonous Children, --so this floraling

Appearing before us

where follows a fervor

complicitly

slapping & stripping?


in honor of one of our Crimes

I was writing

a text who

was perfectly aware the passers-

by & by would refuse an intervention

of heaven or earth as--

soon enough--all things cease to be written.


within hours or hairs

on knees on hands on

sprawled, promiscuous pages,

our organs

lit up as

a gesture less than whole, or by becoming heightens

the dyed-in-the Descriptive

& thus laid beneath the Hero, who would not come.


a body that won't feel itself is Not

having it any better

than the body

whose--


in the waters there at night, the shoal, the sleep, the night,

complicity levels rise and rise, as walking rises our level, Stephanie rise and rise,

I was the pretty young girl once

and quit it for shelter like a knife in errant water, it was errant shelter

the books too improbable to hold, and only water

continuance and


you were the pretty young girl once

fastened by a locket to the throat of

thought that

out of decency, or in

Indecency

thy that I could or not


remember--a radio Stephanie, a radi os

vaporish, cocainish, loosens the contours of the shape of

bodies shaped adrift for steam or fire, all baptized, all cauterized, and still

at any

rate Holy

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