The smell of *****in the hands of a nursing mother
are Memories of better things to come.
Like a stripped-off 'dongoyaro' tree's back
Soaked in a keg of pure ethanol.
The way it burns down the throat
of a sick man
as true memories
of what it takesTo step on someone's toes
of what it takes to be separated
in order to be celebrated,
of what it takes to be hurt
in order to be healed.
How the way we share the baby
to spread the *****and the piss
is a lesson
of how we cannot afford to expect to acquaint with people
and be pleased
without being messed up.
Of how the sweet is the other side of the bitter,
and how people love those who feel at home
with their shit.