Bridgett Bardot poem
horrible rain pours from her fist
like clenched hail hitting
in a sacred death
she is tumbling
like rain
she is wandering
alone
the visions and voices and sounds of her mind pound
and rip
at skin
at falseness
at life
where is the joy
the laughter
the careless gaze
when tornados rip across Gutherie
when the city itself is victim to her lament
(her characters don't dance, they rumble
they claw like the ocelot within her
at her cage
i open the bars
the doors
of cages
and strike
against the wind