Sunday
Jan132013

"I Heart Pussy"

Kendra DeColo


 

Whoever believed these words
            enough to carve each letter
                        into the green paint

of a bench drizzled with leaves
            one autumn, must have loved, too, the feel
                        of the word

as it flushed from heart to finger,
            slipped through the throat like a koi
                        in a corporate pond,

how you can say it sober
            on a clear morning
                        and feel the murk sprawl

open the inner eye, the mouth
            stunned with the church-musk
                        of syllables,

each cut and stroke
            made holy with gush
                        and ephemera.  

He or she must have felt the word
            pierce the core of their lopsided
                        heart until it gleamed

in the gouged wood, must have
            stood on the bench like the president
                        of all the strip-malls

of America, dressed in smoke
            and aftershave, wanting to shout:
                        Praise the under-shimmer

and bisected vowel! The world
            belongs to the panty-less
                        and unshaved.

God bless the subwoofer and carnival
            ride-hitching, the jukebox
                        junkies, five-and-dime

store thieving laureate
            of all things counterfeit
                        and candescent.

He or she must have
            believed in a world where Pussy
                        is king, where all day Pussy

rides the subways of the heart
            illuminating the anthems
                        scrawled there,
                        
what is too precious
            to be said out loud,
                        what is so beautiful it's a sin.