the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...

On Women’s Day 

Delicate bones, an eggshell face and breasts like tiny butterflies on steroids

Bulge and bosom as the earth; warm, undulating, serene and seething 

I have a choice

Treat women like Bukowski, use and revile them

Surrender to their addictive charms in an orgiastic spell

A slut for the wanton

Or worship them almost pagan like

Corpulent breasted full-bodied founder of creation and destruction

With a cosmic tongue

Kali to the devout

A mother, a lover, a fulfiller, an executioner

I choose none

Or choose to swing from one extreme to the other

From the slut to the slayer

Interplay of power and poesy

That’s often limiting 

Must a woman be cast in a man’s view?

A man who is not even her half

In her power to create or give

A pigmy besides her giant

A perennial taker in an iniquitous world 

Poetry tends to obfuscate or blunt the edges

And puts a balm of imagery and emotion

On raw nerves or unbridled energy or truth

This time I will not succumb to its games

Or easy temptations

Let it be real and unrefined

And if it hurts, it will also heal 

You are a woman to me

I am your unfinished half

Yearning to be, itching to grow

And that’s my reality 

08 March 2009