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It starts,
as all things do:
     with blood.

Twice-born child
of the stick,
of the mud,
of the fur pelt
spread out over
the moss, the fern;

I clawed free
from the thigh,
shot from the head,
was swallowed
by the deer
and spit back
up again–
       Venison, baby,
       Kaleva, baby,
       Cougar, baby,

–Michigan baby
pulled up
out of a pothole.
The rush of teeth in tire
and lips on dicks

and with it,

       I came.

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