how much time passes
crawling through
the essence of a thing?

at the nearest gate
nothing opens up—

striations & ringforms
reflect geologic age,
birth & all matter
thru the eyes
of a womxn
pulsing her hips
up & down
from inside the egg
invisible to naked eyes —

every womxn knows
at times i am nothing
but production—

w/o a mouth
organ / opening

taste something

a rift on the tongue

climax, bliss

& from the bottom
of a whirlpool
you pop up like a cork

enter through a parted lip
dual mother

O animus

what imagination
designs the monolith

constraining our desires?

aesthetics narrate conditions:
the monochromatic
of civilization

O phallus of

the present moment

O looming polygon —

i call this a form
of coercion
a kind of hardening

& mean to say
the insidious machination
lacks rhythm,
opposes curvature—

i am talking about
the anti-lyric apparatus,
chainlink father / tower,

shrouded in fog
womb isolated from

our lips pressed

apparatus against the womb

by Isabel Balée

Isabel Balée is a poet, critic, and (sometimes) multimedia artist based in Oakland. Poetry and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in: Wolfman New Life Quarterly, Jacket2, and Ursus Americanus. Aside from communicating with the dead, she works an administrative non profit job, and shows up for the movement / struggle. Links to writings, updates, and other experiments can be found at her website: http://ibalee.me/

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