Song Of The Fucked Duck
In using there are always two.
The manipulator dances with a partner who cons herself.
There are lies that glow so brightly we consent
to give a finger and then an arm
to let them burn.
I was dazzled by the crowd where everyone called my name.
Now I stand outside the funhouse exit, down the slide
reading my guidebook of Marx in Esperanto
and if I know anymore which way means foreward
down is where my head is, next to my feet
with a pocketful of words and plastic tokens.
Mary Piercy “Song of the Fucked Duck” (via thekitelectric)
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