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poems dedicated to twig women


Juan Cruz
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Oh...such memories...

Let me witness to you.

hormones and scripture.

innocence and experience

collaterals and damage

Greek and double-speak

Devils and humans;

who were worse,

the imaginary

or the hypocrite?

Which was which?

Each according to its kind.

But oh Twiggy,

let's go witness tonight.

Oh, Twiggy, let's not witness

the truth tonight.

Oh Twiggy, let's witness

together tonight.

Witness Twiggy tonight.

Witness

Twiggy

Tonight.

Edited by Juan Cruz
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(I wasn't thinking of that Twiggy at all!)

"Looking It Up in the Original"

I was remembering

blessed babe-a-lish-ous

Word-worshipping-women

with whom I concor-danced

around the living room

Friday nights

seven-thirty to nine o'clock

and,

praise Allah,

ever so miraculously...

(like the sun standing still!)

on the rooftop, the shore,

in the dorm room, the park,

and a grassy meadow

beneath the shooting stars

ever young, ever strong,

ever, then never, crude ends.

Edited by Juan Cruz
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.

(From our Spirit of Honesty Dept)

Note' Bene:

That my memory

of each intimate,

extra-twigular,

concordanizing moment

with my sisters in Christ

recalls to mi corazon

the miracle of the sun standing still.

Don Juan, I was not

and yet

who's to belittle a miracle?

To the impure all things are pure

and to be received with thanksgiving.

Edited by Juan Cruz
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