Sunday, January 3, 2016

3rd Wave Feminism

The KING! The KING!
Kingly debates and debacles
surround the love between ancients and yearlings.
Buttery wings
of saplings
glide and flip the earth,
over-turning the edges of things.

And the KING!
The KING is waiting to arrive.
“Arise, sprouts!
The time for bowing is past.
Your KING wishes you strong
and questioning.
The REALM requires your sass, your imagination . . .”

Imagine a nation of crawlybugs and leftovers.
Imagine you as a child, beaming
and bubbling     ,
               teeth full of splinters.
And imagine me.            Killing you.
            And imagine the EARTH relieved. 
            You are for what our mother
                has been waiting . . .

“Ew, Tina! Close your legs.”
              This is it.
Tina, you are beautiful.
So close your legs and kill yourself
for your Dear Old Mother Earth!
Cut yourself off from your own
exquisiteness.
Maybe it will be the last straw,
the last knocking and slapping of
knees and thighs,
last drip of power.
What you wish to hide,
we wish to devour.

Close your legs and kill yourself.
Send us back under the dirt.
Feed us to our own mother,
snarling and sniveling in angst,
starvation and regret.
Let her rip us open, but she’ll
find no blood, nothing
to quench her thirst.
Nothing to soothe her madness.
We’ve been all dried up.
God-damn you, Tina.

The grail is green with poison 
                a droplet apocalypse of
            injected virginal blame and
                         slut shame
torn, and
ripped and
raped, it seems
           by a tyrannical teen-aged KING,

when it is you

should be unraveling.




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