108;

There are two things a man loves – taking
And not taking care of a woman.
It seems that I remember waking
Alongside stones that once were men.

Sip the sullen nectar at the bar,
Greet the thief beyond the Dairy Queen.
I still save my urine in a jar.
When I toss it through the shunted screen.

Branches wither from the explosion.
Then I stalk to sleep in my borrowed bed.
Where gravel severs East and West I-90,

Someone explains how the doing is undone.
Perseus, strike off my head.
I only want someone to touch me.

{Elizabeth Skurnick; Medusa in Oregon}

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