Getting Dickey
By Karen
Last night James Dickey visited me, mad dogs at his side; his trousers tented with the force of thrusting through the words. His southern voice was at my nape. My hair stood up in worship- I was falling from the sky as in my womb his pounding, penile headed poems poured remorselessly, they preached and rocked, they gripped, let go and preached and laughed and rocked till I had fallen. Written January 3rd, 2002 © on Jan 03 2002 03:52 AM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"Last night James Dickey visited me, ..."