What Jenny Holzer Said

          Artemis, Artemis, where are your sisters, punk rock
          band huntresses, wolf
          pack nymphs of fang-
          footed fame?

It is Eris,
bastard girl Strife –
my beloved horses, she drove them hoof-wild,
I could not soothe them to stay;
they trampled the gates to
stampede the winds,
wanderlusting their manes to the furthest corners
of South Dakota and Starbucks,
of Kronos and Chicago,
of Shooting Up and American Dream –
beyond my reach.

          Artemis, Artemis, where are you running, chipped
          nails laced-up Converse, tossing
          up your keys in pavement-pecked and
          punched jeans?

It is Eris,
bastard girl Strife –
she hound-stalks my scent,
as if the very shadow sewn to my feet,
she stirs the rivers to hostile froth,
even sunflower faces bend askance –
I’ll run through the woods alone,
make the moon mine to behold;
I’ll paint myself over in darker shades,
to keep her away,
keep her from flaying my skin.

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