Mammoth Carcass

All I got is irk
like a mammoth carcass
unearthed in the soviet tundra
hiding vex in tar,
heeding deep time’s damn.

An ode to the deadness that sits on my head

like a garden
must be
& loved
but only
will it breathe
so bare with me
while my goal on earth
(if I dare to follow it)
is to be as free as my frizz

a revolution in self-perception a.k.a. the feminine urge

the feminine urge™ to uncover the self through

loving a book to its demise

admiring its ripped eroding cover

to the beast of lustful sardonic rhythms

belting squiggling lifting it

               & the self-fulfilled seal emoji

into the city smog aka the corrupt despair

knowing it’s not the ripples of pores that carve you

but the clumsy erratic errotic swing of your flesh

to the synth of heartbreak & dissonance

for you’ll soon axe the violence of the masculine urge

for it can’t own destruction

only the feminine urge can speak for the apocalypse,

so you choose to untether yourself to all that unwraps

you into a wet trepid wall of catastrophe

not today satan, for you’re open to the whimsical rest

of self-content, content for your messiness

for it gifts your connection to unbounded mama earth

for your sensitivity for it donates caution

& shatters your stubborn ego

// there’s no bane that outlasts all //

for your fury for it grants you valor to rediscover

the surreal or something beneath it all