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wherever there's earth, dirt and the moon, someone
is going to write a "woman" poem
all spirals and delicate shells blood and the bloody moon. Someone
is gonna talk about their cunt.
I don't think my cunt wants to hang out in poems
dripping with beautiful analogy, trying to blend into the ground
its sick of playing nature to my culture. My cunt wants to go to the opera,
it wants to stride through atriums looking at paintings,
it wants to resemble
quantum mechanics and theories as dry
and bloodless as the bones of dead seabirds. It wants
sartorial elegance and a high standard of living; subtlety beyond the lowly
biblical reference and heavy fisted metaphor
It'd like to take this opportunity to point out
the absence of chaos in its structure, it wants to take an opportunity to
see if
opportunity knocks, it'd like to remember its no pussy cat
it'd like to take out a hit on the moon Yeah,
it wants to be a know it all a charlatan a diva.
it wont be caught dead in a couple of dead end lines
in the core of an elegy to a lover
it's gotta have the title track it's got to have the starring role:
it wants
the first choice and it wants the last word
©Olivia Macassey 2001
reprinted with permission
The cunt poem was first published in tongue in your
ear vol 5 2001,
The cunt poem was recorded live for Aural Ink (passionate tongues,
2001)
The cunt poem is protected by international copyright.