O Circle of Women! (Woman2WomanKentuckiana)

 The Southern The Kentuckian way of being man and beige (let me never claim my or 'our' blankety-blank whiteness) is to be genteel, a knight who would largely enough 'fight to gain the Lady.' This Lie a Big Lie especially now derives from the violent mythos of Medieval chivalry, whose extant tomes I read with some penitence, and large sorrow in particular for my own silly and lost maleness. 'Man that is (indeed) (indeed and only and ever) born of Woman' . . . and woman has never been the-weaker of genealogies; She unlike me has some 'Thing' to be able to do what is now called multi-tasking, whereas I and the Mob of Man Hood tends mostly or conspicuously to think of singlesubject works. As well, there is in cis-Men some seeming frontal-cortex cognition that heeds appearance-- particularly a sort of physics of beauty-- not morality centered at the hearth and its health. The Lady besought of the 'Knight' would have been a fem more like the courtesan

 The COST on the BALANCE, in love and love's mistake, in my latter consideration as herein TomFools as when the QuakerShakes to get the ache The Crossed DoubleCrossed so CruelTooled; for WITNESS! I shuddered awhile, AnotherLessBother the Better Her intercourse with my more-worse bankruptcy-courtesy wellcurst great Price nicer than my testicular Testament: 'tis the-better blood none NoMatterMattering m'phun undone. She walks away with an ungentleman not me naturally but See? P.P. as He pees 2Her4Her over mE ENTHUSiastically which frees !COSTlyLiberty! from She welllearnt 4 me not to Give but live on betterbalance bitched by Ye never was a Majesty nor I made happy by CrucifiedFrenchFried Chivalry. GoodLoss! No More to score sore Sacrificial PseudoSanctity. . .

I must find some alternative for my guiding myth as relates to women. There has always been an under-motive in my thinking that SHE WILL REWARD ME WITH LOVE if I (like almost all men-so-born) fight for her, This illusion unworks: it would seem that all the deep cuts I make on myself to my blood's emptying IN THIS AGE usually just get Her to 911Cops. The myth continuation holds that fight to the end I sacrifice all for Her; the worship of woman as Diva hearkens to that illusion.

 SNOW @ChangeOfLife falling snow SheIsNow AND somewhat IT STICKS the.snow.sticks.thick& in menopausefrozen birth hints from black that again the blood'll begin as over and over again SheGranny blesses bride2be of Spring She hums hymns in chillwind's flurryingflake. . . Life awake and for Life's sake WeWomen of Easters bornagain Sing so Ice of Earth this moment proclaiming Equinoxes' new babes bringing. . . Baby! NoMaybe, NeoNate yet UnNamed in YouOleLady (me-too!) ado. . .AllGenesisThineAnew In Thee from Thee Generation Grows GrandChildren Heaven from HellZeroPermafrost Simile Similarly Seemingly NotExactly the Same blesses OurWinter AllOver from whence mutatis mutandi s Living begins when deep Winter hinders home hearth and friend.

 Almost we'd a Church, almost Fem enough yet Virginal? Who is THAT? Almost I becum Fem, was one of Them, in the GangMen yet over and over again MALE BONDING GRINDING GRINDING kept me stopping when hE tried to blind me. A Church of AlmostAlmost then and soldiered ChristianSoldiered with but men atop as I heard Her scream. Atop is not what I mean; the OldGoldMean of mean men overseen not who I am; so away from HolyHolies' Jerusalem beneath in the JohnsonGrass Catalpa Urbanized heath TheMoonFull fills, and I allegiant pledge to periods and 28 to appreciate wobbly cyclic unto paroxmic Citizenship lipsticked on m'lips. Still almost The GirlsHost my Ghost I love now most most Most.

 GoatSong, yes Tragedy=> hE so came out, hose attached, and botched. The yen to go back in There TheCave that is, needed a Plan B: Mother such murder bing man bing in the can a standee 4peepee, mine ownself (now I let out it's mE) SO in a Sabbath of Decades, sissy, and now hE sits. Lipstick thick on lips & scarletfingertipped see mE stand before the Mirror mirroring O Tits like the Miss beloved, all of Em (the Way they talk&weep&gossip tells a Woman; harmonics Holy and above tenortimbre and I becum Member be.have O Yes the Echo from Caves down there Theirs direct me toward away from menshorde into Hers Grotto-Lair. I care, O Mere de Terre In this RoomSunlitMorrow of no sorrow I be sissy beyond the SacredCave for Womb I rave. . . i sacrifice my gOAT and gloat the mAN departsme; downsitting i pee 4U unto eternity.

 I heard Girls cry I watched Girls cry I who choke who does no weeping choked. Broken carekeeping as this amiss not to Like You show enow the gotten gist. Body! Bother somebody Else un-near when sobbing Madonnas grieved I hear!

HE-SEE-SHE IN THE CLOUDS & the Churchbell rings; illusion and wish get married before inevitable divorce. A little imagination o'course and cash@hand-- the latter with moredemand-- the prior with neither girlfriend to bother. At least he will not phone Her, nor give Her Valentine what Wind blows and Obscurity deigns his Time for GoodTime less Time shelved UP THERE IN HEAVENS ALL heVICTIMS ARE HELLED well ESPECIALLY SAINTS AND KNIGHTS TEMPLARISH who'd definitely have me Cumulusly burnt on a wish SMOKE SIGNALS ambiguous nonsequiturs nothing but Girl makes a world that for sissy should matter.

 In this knee-ache, age 74+ at-birthstool-impossible in morrow @ a MetroMob of cars&trux a Louisville Kaintucked at window and indifferent blowby Howdy!less to this sis who looks ThePart (ThyPart, Girl, ReminderOfMother/TheGod of childbirths and stillbirths/and some marriages awhile avowed assiduously yet an after birth/happenstancely broken) AS NOW I SIT AS IF WAITING FOR A CALL/at cold Jan beckoning either a girlfriend befriending/or Cops copping arrestingly/a Sting. But nothing stings now, muchjilted and unable to birth children my whitening WinterWinkingWeal this Age I feel close chosen by Womb choosing Womb happy soon to let mushrooms growgravely y'know the afterlifeafterbirth TheEternityTheReturning EdenWard toward Reincarnation as fescue or OtherGrass (Something Mom cooks up, nothin spells lovin like somethin from HerOven!) O Womban I love You!

 My Lesbian pleasure and Your god amighty Face and this Snow1.55am moment when wakened by an earwax deafness and by thefts of Dignity (as if, once again I'd!) having with cutethoughts and smiles U gave and WOW Woman bathing nude in January north and east and French Joelle au naturel s'appelle swimming (Ponds Atlantics indifferent yet specifically pacific) MY PLEASURE, TREASURE MEASURES hopelessborn he-thing makes-sing in HighRiseAparts MetrosZeroes which Traffick traffic WindowWindWinter and Sirens (hint this means YouHeroineHymnique!) yet IN CIRCLE IN WOODS ART Bacchante Beauty imparts Good I hear fearing by queering the Womb in me grow happily toward.entirety SnowSilence Terre-Mere the Face of TheeChorically this NowShow

 I see the better I am unseen the better I will have been. Life long with some wrestling song often more'n little wronged I tried. TheGift died TheGiver should never've tried as jails end a manly martial pride a proper sentence-mine, fine, then 2ve died.

 Impulse and the sin of sacrifice (love's deadfall; the Cops do love Her2LockHim UP). Thus busted jailed impaled for TheGift that should have been a cig NOT bloodlet gig. Why did I look I should not look (when Booked I thought of that; that thought again the sin of virtue of NeverEverEnd to war for ye again). . .

 I learn 'the Ropes,' I learn to dance; gifts from me you need-not, do offend, and my best then would seem to obtain in yes watching I say in-repeat, and then as-if-in-a-situation you all of you need a Quixote to say a poem in a vaunt of prose. I have learned that Quixotes never get lady-fair, as she does not need a dangler to get so-crucified. Little signs that 'you have had enough of me' are skimpy; the Police, however, will violate me for violation of your persona; these Cops are usually as suckers (like I am too) for a chivalry that was in genesis a mere bully-violence, and now as I no longer want more police-beatings, I shall merely sit at the side of your tango girl2girl as in the womansroom when you chat-- in a way that men in mensroom never do-- about love and relations all punctuated by excretions and hand-washing. Now is the day after Yesterday; my lessons are getting inside me slowly, I am a fool and quixotic and so learn this tangodance slowly. I joy overjoy

 Hail, I Hail Thee, Girls! I am reading books of Chivalry from the Middle Ages to have learned that the Knight was utterly a macho-man, whose ability to war was paramount, whose physical strength was the deep-end of service to Fair Lady, deemed weaker, deemed to need help.  I no longer think that the Chivalric legend as outlined above befits what TheWoman needs wants asks of men; the weakness-assumption is no longer how She presents herself, she does not need a man to tell to fight 'dragons' or 'Infidels' and the like. With variance, I think that like Don Quixote the man for Woman needs to put up armor, needs no more to operate on the lie that She needs him more than he needs Her ;-)   . . . Yet the-more to suggest at this juncture would be the idea that-- to commence to end at Her yen-- we can befriend Hers. That as with all folk, friendships require attention to timely attention to the detail then recommending-itself, there can never be an expection that in some unspe

 I think it is time for me to break silence, Girls; the Winter Solstice and its sequelae have once again brought me to a shattering in my ideals of what I always thought was genteel, chivalrous. O I love to make sacrificial gifts to Your Kind, WomanKind, yet now I know that the best giving is as little as I am, little in money, little in the kind of 'looks' that attract  => No!!!!! I am not YourType never will-be, nor does my smile go as winsomely to Ye when you as OK this-time might want a sex-that-roughs and I hate that which has ever been my roughness. Over here, in my insular cell of being, I shall aspire NOT to give sacrifice to You, Superiors. I need to cheer as in You, Independents, I can feel Thy refusal of my meagre offerings which embellish the triviality of any thoughts I ever had to be Thy Blood Donor, to vent the red sanguinity of my ache for Ye, into a PlasticBaggedStyrofoamedGreatSea, the Indifferent Ocean where men = minimum, at very least can go into roadlit