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Repressed Memory / Wild That Water

 

Wild that water that spiders outward / liquor
sure wears mean through eyes shot red / remember,
your mother warned, to stay in the clear
outside the squares of his side / walk -ways

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of water spidersóthe molesting figure. This at which
your eyes think /long -legged eyelashes kick
out / rippling the saline ponds with each step / bastard
-father you never planned.

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This and those, times-two / through which sand pours fastest
when doubled / vision of these shapes too / both oval
-remembered bedrooms, motherís and yours / that familiar
lurk / that murky figure who entered space just because

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it emptied him / leached from your hourglass into which
youíve yet to figure / feel that glare again over
the green pond morning sun closing up nature /
nursling you were and never knew.

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There this dark, the wildly inexorable / inertia
system spill of your hourglass sand / your blood again
shocked in jets / fragment stream of dead sex cells /
egged on like a bubble in Prell / pondering

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you divided at this step / -bedroom, a glare still
and now watching a water spider kick open
a square figure eight / out to the marsh /
mornings you abstracted, so never saw.

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Migrain the mother knowing least/how to resist knowing
the molesting father as water spider, yours / figure
you lost by motion alone / his fingers bleeding
sand in your small slip; its hiss / in your eyes

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cracking eggshell white / red as the sand
cracking your hourglass by its motion / bloodís emotions
alone / out of time and memory / hers too, the mother
in love you should have told.

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Muleta -red is the emotion that returns / divides you
at the fleshing mirror that separates / returns you! /
At which door? / Both doors back and forth,
the strongest current at either side you think

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to turn / Which side? / both lives into which he slipped,
stripped and slumped, slitting his eye
-lids shut / whose eyes? / His, in each the apple
that was you: split open and always dropping.

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Red the veinsí spill and sand the blood
of wet /whites the better to see you with / who
saw / whose eyes? / Silent the witness
you always hurt / who heard, who saw? / She who told

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they who know! / who told, who knows? / She who tried
not to, whose eyes too cracked red / wide
under the pour of your hourglass, the mother
you didnít! / didnít you know to tell?
 

--- Chris Custer