Round

River runs riot round bends, twists turn naturally
moving through centuries paths laid down taking
debris and shite, its own course, its own voice
life within death of sorrowful sonnets laid at
feet of null and void. No matter how many times
you push, plunge control flow carve out preconceived gullies choose a course
you think it should do, river will always flow its own,
return to its choice, flow from its source to mouths in waiting
No matter how many times
you push, plunge control flow carve out preconceived of fairy tale ideas because
someone somewhere decides they can because they say we can’t because they believe
someone somewhere said in a book once upon her body is ours to say bend over, spread easy
be taken, be broken be ripped, shredded seduced, reproduce, reproduce pushed plunged
carry the weight of his load, as with rivers will always choose our own,
return to our choice flow from our source to mouths in waiting, roar rapidly carving our own
we will roar my sisters and I,
dare you come to our door and tell me I can’t, and I’ll show you choice
we are river, sun, fire, moon, breath you inhale, eternal mother nature, you will not take what’s not yours to give she chose to birth you and now you wage war. War on the womb of the mighty. We will rise. Rise, my sisters and I brightly, rainbowed full bodied. Our choice, her choice, my choice. We will roar as rivers run riots round bends take all the debris and shite.

editors note:

Guys, come ’round, else they’ll just go ’round. – mh clay

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