America likes her women soft wired and hard boiled
a calm pounding cum-pounding compounding; no
resistant, her tame & hollow, her beaten her-pattern an air
conforming in soft peaks right from a vegetable shell
America times a no-minute egg & calls it ‘well-dressed’
in a culture on a budget with edges beaten
to a froth is the mother is the daughter is America
like eggs separated and inseparable and
remarkably like the other O we use to know but
she isn’t archetypal folk; she’s a gender construct
now, whoever owns the brown egg
unshelled shelling sure shore shape, she
sells she-cells down by the she, sore
maid, a mother and a wife (so unartfully cooked!)
m’lady shell is maid to order in the hour an egg
with shell-O identity unlike the h’our behind the egg disease
while the other is an order dissed unlike the court trying to
re-place in the girl-basket our eggs for us
my ghosted black goddess is poultry in a cooped leaving
m’shell a market value povertied even more by poor feel
cum-animus pound! yes, pound!
beat into your own being forever and
a day above the moon love your moon
shine the froth outside the seed factory making a ‘she’
to order; don’t get pounded into one Michelle
there is no such thing as a single bloom
Persephone was out gathering flowers
flowerSSSSSSS! love your esses! your own yeses! Yeah!
love your copper arms not made in shells in
white brown egg myth smythery
love your own wombs
yes, your wombs too, but in their
empty octave
love their emptiness most of all
& in the beating love
love with copper hearts the womb feel
the earned nickel, the tin cups, the breasts
yourself no longer a wounded name: ‘Woman’
a real working frame, hard won, yours and
earned |
