Men and their Names
No more names on my arm, my God, no more names on my heart. Each name is the song of a different Earth; speaking it, the map must rewrite. Then all of my reasons are reasons no more; all of my reasons disappeared. A coherent “why” explains the wind and the trail that led me here. If that why is no longer relevant, if the reason has disappeared, then so has the trail that explains why I'm here; and the wind that cannot be held never blew. You touch me; and you lie to me. You say you are like me. My power is to embellish you, but “you” are your own country. And when I become your satellite, because you have pulled me in, my mind must rewrite my history, and the truth of what I'm in. A woman is the field upon which battling voices fall; her hearing is reality-inducing attention. Your voice sounds so under my skin... it fits so well with your eyes. Your voice becomes the native tongue with which I describe the world. No more names on my skin, my God. No more hands to spin. An hou