Phallic and Fallopia: Alveolar Assimilation
They are left with one last image:
oscillating bars of steel and concrete.
Each back is purple from beatings,
They begin the whistles and clicks
of the insane–without tongues,
there remains a bird-like alveolar pop
in their mouths, the sound
like a playing card tapping the spokes
of a bike wheel. They press fingers
to each throat, feeling for a buzz,
much as honeybees circle augurs
in the warehouses of the damned.
Most are sent for assimilation:
they learn to write long poems
on what they think about while mating.
The keepers know when they are in heat:
they purr in soft z, the skin shimmers
hieroglyphically, their tails point
toward the smoke trails of Icarus.
One of them, a young one,
continues to have memories
of the time before the great passage:
a ballerina on a thin cobweb spun by god.
She remembers the gardens
behind the eyes of each soul:
she is sent away for genital mutilation.
Soon, she will reappear at Wal-Mart
to dust fake plants with a small broom
made in China.