Cackling and snortling the arrival of another day
as if to say
You’ve got to do it again you poor fuckers’.
In his laugh the promise of a scorcher
An ear drum and nasal cavity of insects
And a crusted, headlong, headstrong bitumen to navigate.
I don’t know where he pisses off to for the rest of the day
But he sure as hell doesn’t chortle when he’s in the thick of it either.
Today she thought
I miss being a girl.
How many times these months
chants & championing
woman & strong
impregnated so as she might erupt
An Orphic egg
Spit out a new cosmos amongst the darkness
Create from the wound.
She was sorry to let the universe down.
But when she buckled up her own helmet before riding
when she took her own hand to cross the road against the lights
She shuffled her feet at the curb & breathed
‘All the women in me are tired.
I miss being someone’s girl’.