What does this living corpse mean to me
When he inscribes into brown breasts,
“Look, Here’s Inherent Rapability!”?
He sees solely what he wants to read--
An Eden, an Eve, and loving trees
Open to his writing serpentine
Seduction upon our still blank leaves.
He condemns us to wear masks of verse--
Faces created in fantasies
Of housewives, whores, and Miss Universe,
Who parade across his stage unfree,
Then stop, stand upon the auction block,
Knowing it is not enough to think
Of Jacobs’ defying locks. Like her,
We can rewrite our stories,
Seize our bodies’ natural poetry
From his claims of Manifest Destiny.
© Xiomara A. Maldonado 2009