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Tony Grist

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Sis [Mar. 20th, 2004|10:14 am]
Tony Grist
When hair first grew between my thighs
I'd tuck my genitals out of sight
And take a look in the full-length mirror
At Sis, my twin, her long hair wound up
In shawl or turban.

We'd not been apart
Till then.

She left home shortly after
For Egypt- where she lifts the dead
Gently out of their holes in the earth
And drinks expresso, molto expresso,
And lives on her nerves.

She takes less shit
Than I will and her messages
Are sharp and piney.

I haven't affected
The full-length mirror much since she split.

But when I do I notice how
The lines are softening. However priapic
Or cunnilingual we are, we tend
To the ending of sex. Old men and women:
Dress 'em in bed clothes, mix 'em together,
Then say which is which.

But there's this as well;
The older I get, the closer I get
To her shamelessness, to her spit-cat wit.
Polish the timber and shine up the handles-
My scapegrace sister is coming home.
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