something niggling and not quite aware yet, it's so secret     it snails its way on the inside

up a lower back to leech into the exact spot one cannot reach to rub to hold to feel

to warm     to warn     bloody thin rivulets extend sideways     not quite to the hips   but

somewhere non-existent in the back of the back of the back at the back to deluge

forward with lightning network     welds back and front into one exact same harrowing

spot     turns a body warm and red with sticky pain     to turn me cold blue pale with

never ending getting even spite for me to feel the tingling niggling and remember what i'm

not aware of yet     the rivulets of red     snaking eve's snake     into the innerinnerinner

insides     forking the disaster     pampering that pain     twisting that torment     tearing

the throbs     forcing head in utero with no unborn teeth     i want to scream     i want

to moan     i want to die     i want to be adam     i will never carry anything ever     no     sleep

seasofme050113windsong

while looking for this song and knowing the words (below), i thought, why not.

two birds with one stone, right?

the magdalene laundries     joni mitchell

i was an unmarried girl
i'd just turned twenty-seven
when they sent me to the sisters
for the way men looked at me
branded as a jezebel
i knew i was not bound for heaven
i'd be cast in shame
into the magdalene laundries

most girls come here pregnant
some by their own fathers
bridget got that belly
by her parish priest
we're trying to get things white as snow
all of us woe-begotten-daughters
in the steaming stains
of the magdalene laundries

prostitutes and destitutes
and temptresses like me
fallen women
sentenced into dreamless drudgery
why do they call this heartless place
our lady of charity?
oh charity!

these bloodless brides of jesus
if they had just once glimpsed their groom
then they'd know and they'd drop the stones
concealed behind their rosaries
they wilt the grass they walk upon
they leech the light out of a room
they'd like to drive us down the drain
at the magdalene laundries

peg o'connell died today
she was a cheeky girl
a flirt
they just stuffed her in a hole
surely to god you'd think at least some bells should ring
one day i'm going to die here too
and they'll plant me in the dirt
like some lame bulb
that never blooms come any spring
not any spring
no, not any spring
not any spring