Grown, No Thank You
Whating maketh me feel so big a hate Them lily-livering bitch-faced strangler women Of a breed I am usually want to love with mine squalling pucey bosom I love them bitch-faced babes on usua Oh no not this time Yes this timing is wrong I think about it and it is like one big yellow green loogie hocked into an eye Whose eye Not her eye God forbid Don’t co-mingle our body beats Please Act not likey a little wittle baby boot Strap it to your thigh instead Wear piggy pantaloon baby boots as if you were a strangler woman Which you are By the way You are Yes you like strangling I like to pinch pinch a little bit of thick thigh Every time I say it I wheeze If only not to set mine weasley miniature eyes If the eyes are not big you have a very ugly face I admit to it I live in it Besides the point which is Oooo this big girl hate
Bland meat, suck pig you, um little little little! Suck you um, up like a bitty tri-tip Lovely bun in my whacked out tram I give in to the whim of it Baby beets and bossy women I want A Fleetwood Mac t-shirt But I want it To say “crystal visions” and I want it to say I keep them to myself Because of course I do I write them down I placate my mama-brain She’s not picky She just liked to eat after all- don’t forget- we’re of the same brick trip, you and I We ate of similar stone Now what’s there to strap together but my harness Your bit I am not alluding to sex I do really mean horses I do really mean meat I do lay down at night I do pick a wedding dress for Margaret Flimsy silk Looks good I’m not seventeen I’m a sucker A sick sucker in love
from Dora Sharlock Presents: Ladies of the ‘80s
‘Lo, tinder and hold-- reverse the valley! Up over them big mountains done in salt-slitted snow breathes my town Manipulating valley, town slopped down amongst sky and farther’n sea Where I make my living dancing for the good great men who manhandle our land drawing gold from untidy gulches Burying their children I sneak away, lay by the river Hold sweet Anna’s hand in our shared wooden bedroom When I tell you more you will be unsurprised and bidden by your good faith to congratulate our happiness in spite of its propriety-dissolving practice
Up with the land Up with the land I came into it and it came to me Mar not your song or fruit for it Is coming in with the land Along with the sky I am feeling it in you only a little bit Get it together Incantatorily Go into that house Go
On Voluptuousness, Time Travel and Lesbianism
The closest you can get to being a cannibal without being jailed is eating another woman’s pussy blood. This is only cannibalism if you’re a woman (defined as feeling a feeling of “I am a Woman.”) Only lesbians can be cannibals. “Your love is so edible to me! I eat cannibals!” sing Total Coelo. When I heard the song- the beat and then the words- I knew that it was a song for lesbians. Last night when I was in class I knew I was a lesbian because I couldn’t stop thinking, as the professor talked about Nietzche and Wagner and the pure emotive living that is music, that more than anything in the world I wanted to be getting fisted by this woman I want. Fucking was on my mind because I am reading Tales of the Lavender Menace by Karla Jay and she writes quite lustily. For example, she writes of one lover whose “favorite time of year was summer, when she wanted me to use cucumbers, zucchini, and corn on the cob as organic dildos.” Fuck the use of “purple prose” as a putdown. Flowery, too-pretty words strung together with an air of purpose, almost certainly female: bad bad bad form, ladies. Of course if you are doing bad form because you are aware it is the way you’re meant to live then you know that lavender prose (and let’s give it some justice by granting the lushly sneering jibe towards women’s work a more defined shade of color: that which marks the cannibals) is the way to go. Lavender prose can look deceptively simple if you say the words randomly but stitched together in perfect order they will immediately bloom your entirety in voluptuous, bombshell pink roses. James Baldwin is one person who somewhat recently saved my life (operating under the belief that one’s life is continuously saved throughout a lifetime). Not because of giving up but just needing a reason (which grows in you every minute) to spend days awake, and some nights too. There is a time in the middle of night with my door closed when it truly feels like 1800-something, even with my computer in front of me. I time travel in dreams which is one of the most spectacular, hysterically wonderful things that has ever happened to me.