O Circle of Women! (Woman2WomanKentuckiana)

 Bell that rings for Mass and death and wedding, do not ring for me now that I have milked cows and for woman died on DoubleCross. I shall stay here; the stench of my carcass' sour milk gotten off my DD chest suffices. What's nice in all that, the thus lock on the door so that I will not escape when the HydrogenBomb cops some nappyhaired some blond (the only ones besides Maintenance y'know with guns and keys here to blowaway Vlad Putin's patsy, and Donald Trump approves re-elected to kill and rape any gurl RonDesantis and the American KGBClub selected. The Churchservice over and no bell tolling me, the airconditioner and carwrecks on streets below blowjob blowout botch) AND ghosts of BillyGrahamMinistry and other bell-tolled told miseries smother me.

 Atop my nakedness, at the breastsbulge, and a camo cover cloth cupped, I go out. The door behind locks, the panty 'neath my dress a nonetheless nudity that Secret shaping She of me frees. Ma'am I now am O O such present bliss not to be man. How Grand!

Nativity in The City, This Home wherein countrybumpkin outside-steps, occasionally and hard the terrain good for Old Edsels and PoliceCruisers, maybe too a stolen U-Haul of broken deals and committed crimes. . . <which re minds that this breaks the law as lyric loses in lex talionis good as laughing judges and landlord gyps will bear evictions all those doublecross-tions on women-- how do I include here?-- who now in tents and down a block now closer to the River Belle Riviere O Hi O take root in the pavement the always cracks permit, Girls, CAMPING where once me&Ye camped CRAMPT in Growing Womb.> <which re minds me that I as well am taking root as from the spore not the Seed indeed She's have, Baby! Borne born not even close to Bethlehem to beget birth not Thine Eve's but my notion this creation, the illusory womb an I'mFem.> . . .We grow from Rocks, Girls, we are busting rox the hard on softened of a sex I 'magine too ThisAfterlifeBeyondTheScrew that m...

  When I see the homeless women, the camping women on the streets, who too often look find cling to a man who-- presumably-- will protect them from the many risks of outdoor-living, THEN I forget all the ordeal of my own mostly-outdoor homelessness, with anewed yen to try to find a comfort for these deemable 'waifs,' who in various ways sell what they think they have for PROTECTION. . . These girls (if I may speak of grown and less-grown fems in a tenderly diminutive way) do not deserve WHAT I GOT ON THE STREETS-NO-PLACE-MINE; I must do something, what what what something might I do? I have a Place now, Dosker Manor on the street in LouisvilleKY celebrating Muhammad Ali; Salaam Muhammad Ali ?what way pacific might we come to aid?-- not from a chivalry implying winning Hers for keeps-- but for a friendship freeing her from want fear? O Muhammad! we were born and borne with a testosterone I hate, a juice that perps much violence war upheaval property-dispute, of which blessedly ...

 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.