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


at the nearest gate
nothing opens up—


outside,
striations & ringforms
reflect geologic age,
birth & all matter
witnessed
thru the eyes
of a womxn
pulsing her hips
up & down
sunbathing
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
writhing,
arrhythmic—

II.
enter through a parted lip
dual mother


O animus


what imagination
designs the monolith


constraining our desires?


aesthetics narrate conditions:
the monochromatic
experience
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
anti-womb


our lips pressed
together

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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