I wrote this late last night. Just Kinda popped into my head. It's called "We Are Women". Nothing for those that coo not over toothless midgets. The talk is all well and good but we are defective, you say. Suddenly not so strong and alluring. The caveman rouses. He only required his conquest, his factory, his heir. Standing behind and twirling that curl and setting it at an angle that pleases him. The mornings are freedom. The pins hold back glistening femininity until the time closes in on you like a narrow rotting-floored cave. The pins are cast aside and you sit begging it to fall accurately. In a way that shadows your purple-blue eyes. At night the dreams of barren valleys enthrall you. This is your heaven, your escape. The land is dead, but you have heard him talk of stars. They will lead the way to some place far away, where the sun shines off visible sculls and diamonds drip from your very being. peace and much love
