by Roger GroghanThey become wild and erotic near rivers be it torrent or trickle It must be -- something to do with survival, aliveness, a creature looking. Dreamy self Dreamy other I have seen them, women who hug mud. They wrap themselves, roll in it then hug each other, squeezing the river within. I particularly like them in various shades of plateau, mesa colors where rocks, rivers, mud and women are denominated by red. Some spend hours on granite, watching waterfalls. Consumer culture wilderness supply corporations see them as substrate, youthful and sexy in graphic wild. Lingering in pools, river stillness, something on them flows to the sea. Yet they are always new water offering new eyes. Some walk close to death with age or disease, still wanting to be near rivers. And when defending a watershed, they fight like mothers.
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