Were-Pussy

And breathe blood as the sweat returns to the sea,
This movement, these waves,
What new scabs formed old scars
Without the scratching of pen on paper
To help the skin calm.
It always has to come out – the heat-
A sheet of white-nothing a better victim
Than a man of hope and gums.

He cannot comprehend the interiority of a woman;
Least the desire that burns between her lips
Snarling to be filled.
If the moon is our mother
That makes the entrance to our temple
Something of a were-pussy
Whose power that thrums every day has been
Banished to legend and myth,
Leaving only tales of her madness
That howls to the skies
Once a month
When iron becomes a bitter and angry taste
For the caged beast
Whose story was rewritten and deleted
To make her a beauty
And a receptacle
For his pet
Who had trembled at first sight of her hunger,
And wondered if he was man enough
To full-fill her.

Advertisements

Leave a thought

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s