No one wants to give anything up. Stains on the neck, bloody slash of a single fingernail, female, frantic, screaming, death and raunch and blessed religious nightmares . . . Breaking all boundaries, even the one of your God, enlightens in those frightening moments when there is no control, just honey dreams, mumbled words, spread thighs laughing, forever fucking, forever knowing your truth. Secrets, secrets, never kept or nothing . . . Breasts for their sweet softness, anger for its sweet pain.
Anger lies but breathes with strength, and taut, straining limbs.
People will see female breasts or think about breasts and most of the time not notice their pure intrinsic beauty. Perhaps they become distracted by an understandable human lust, but most times people will degrade, say the image is dirty, do something to make the image dirty, make the woman whose breasts they are do something dirty, make breasts victims when really they are innocent warriors, proud, sure of their connection with the land and the spirit world. Kind of like Indians. I ate a candy bar the other day and knew it was part of that grand plan to wipe me out, it is afraid of what I'll say, what I'll reveal. Pigs, screaming, like unborn lions in the crypt of mass extinction.