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Raising Eve from the red earth beneath the shadow of the mark—
The old earth is good enough for her and perfect
Slow and robot-like encircled by her harlots,
The perfect queen of shadows—
Yesterday was the beginning of time I’m told
Her reign a golden stiff one—
She was a pupil of the pope I’m told—
Her shadow markings very alive like her youth,
Educated as a Shakespearian, the sober mother comes in crying—
A red shade with dark pupils closing in like cardboard figures
Leaving Latino marks in her youth I’m told
Gay men marching without pride
Stiff Brazilian men her favored dictators—
Perfect shadows leaving no Jewish mistress unturned
The new goddess of silence searches for her apples—
Sniffing their seeds in her armpits,
She regales her children for their blindness
Flying from the red earth beneath the shadow of the mark of the shadow—
Yesterday she bore a child via computer damned by its eyes,
She began life as mother demanding only art—
Should that now be mankind’s sole desire?
The golden-faced vermilion goddess in her Italian tattoos—
Kneeling in Spanish made stilettos,
Kneeling before the pope and the archbishop
Can confound her with their questions—
Her origins as cold as their knives—
Her gifts are simple and she is much adored—
The old witch lives in my attic
I love her violated wood mantra to Plato
Cracked by the force of her seething gale ass—
She has made the rounds of yesterdays raising Eve from the red earth—