Halftime

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