My ****** writes a poem:

.

The warm baths around
the eternal flame and the holy
water of the source
are a mystery
in which I am at home

My desire jumps
from man to man
spring after spring after every rest
- thirteen weeks a year
  to learn to understand everything -

To whom shall I give me
shall I give the chance
to impregnate me?
- 500 times the summer fire
  flaring up in my body -

Tired, confused, not knowing
what is going on inside me
I'm floating in the autumn bath
- it puts me together again
  into a calm woman -

But in the spring, the spring
I step forward reborn
as a fatal woman
- young again and again
  always a ****** -

Blood clots avalanche
into the toilet bowl--

I read them like they
are tea leaves.

A confirmation
of what I have always
know:

my womxnhood

a testimony

of bad fortune.

~
I cast my net
                  into the tributary

and release into you, a seasonal swim,

I give to you a mother's color,
        as you recite
        infant hymns,

                    you're a bleeder
on the days sunfire meters out its origin,
                    you're my river

free and clear from the grip

      of anchorage,

                         my river,

drifted on to wherever
                       moon wishes glister
~

A spoon scoops out ribbons
Of entrails and intestines
From the tender lining
Of my soft belly.

My mind is murky waters
Muddled thoughts
Mindless wandering.

Heat invades my skin
A tainted blush of fever.

Once every full moon.

She sits atop a hill,
the brown stone Goddess
Bleeding.

She squats and part her legs,
the yoni splattered with red,
Bleeding.

No cloth, no pad, no shame
a wild wild woman untamed,
Bleeding.

Her vermilion melts, and drops and paints,
her forehead to her yoni,
Bleeding.

The blood feeds earth
melting the hearth,
Bleeding.

The red of life,
preserved in a menstrual cup
Bleeding.

From the kumkum to bindi to choori to saree,
she a woman deliquescing in red,
Bleeding.