Knives held up to throats
And you see: Its really all just an elaborate joke.
Aw, shut up, you should just laugh.
But I think of knives held to throats

Of guns in the street

Of same *** marriage

Of alzheimer's disease
Of her experience, his experience
If we could press rewind, would we?

But lets place a glowing sword back in our belts
We could part our salivating lips to utter a thing
But just as words were seeming, dreaming of, formulating--
Light iron wings would spread from our shoulder blades
Grab a loyal person or two,
And take off.

But wait, we can see it so clearly,
Hold on, I'm sorry my vision is blurring--
Sounds echoing all around..
Convulsing, guttural noises
No, no point to question--
You see, its us who make those guttural noises
Its all us WOMEN, making those noises.

And if you were to hand us a canvas
All those violent colors would be thrown all over it
Theres a ripping, shredding, tear stained look
No one taught us in a book
What is too far?
What is a joke?
What is violence?
What IS love.

Mighty and made up of granite
The most lavish beaded fabric
Limbs outstretched to the sky.

They say the word stone has a multitude of meanings
What if we flew above it?