fits of forgiveness for every sunken son and daughter. the lions paisley tongue dealt nine lashes. the child fit into a barren hand, the smooth palms of a gypsy mother whose liquorish lips peel for every day we've lived without giving proper things proper names. bird, fish, human mother, wolf breath, baby tail, rainfaced i gave up. my lions paisley tongue wrapping around the words we would die to change " mother, daughter, dead hand, evil man."