And so, we are enslaved in our “liberation”
by that shimmering pole that we
cling to with hands that had wiped tears
dancing around that seductive idolatry
Empowered, are we, yet every man stares
For every eye, that pole
grows, and we swing, swing,
hovering between the clouds and hard floor
Intoxicated on hypocrisy, that backwards
justice, I watch Jennifer Lo
kill women
Lena has PTSD since witnessing the
murder of her sexuality
Now she sees crotch clutching, hips swaying
on a sparkling stage, wonders, is that how
power manifests, like a
quince placed on a pedestal to
rot and mold?
So sorry, I hold my child, you had
to see your fallen state before you grew
Up, up you go now, child
viced to a dazzling beam, a
woman, once hour-glassed, now
xiphoid, climbs on. If only I could tell
you: you are no
Zealot