She talked about a hole surviving in the world. Actually, I don’t know if it’s a she or a he, but he is a just third of she, so lets just make it a whole – that’s right, we were talking about that hole in the world.
S/he talked about there being a hole in the world. One that was gaping but hard to see. It wasn’t covered over, it was just buried deep under the sea of our disinterestedness. Our politics incorrectness and oblique apathy, our feminism and chauvinism which clouded this body of water, purply green
The colour of her bruises, in fact it could have been his, disguised under all those lies, the trials the journeys, and the cramped, monkey cage style, of living, who knows about the gender, by now the conditions have probably bent her.
All the politics and fighting about whose got the Rights, all the arguing and despising about who is Right, all the oohing and aaahing about whether we should turn Right, or left out of this windy lane, back to the green fields, chic markets and cargo stuffed aeroplanes…
So we decided to take these Rights of sexual liberation and sexual pleasure, the Right to my body and the Right to…whatever
And we carved a deep fat hole in the texture of this confusing world, that wasn’t buried in a liquid sea, but in an ocean of media and hypocrisy.
With the splayed legs and lingerie backs, the cleavage that heaved as s/he tried to lean back.
I’ll tell you, stop looking at the Sky, the Ozone is going nowhere, instead tilt your head to the side, and begin to stare
There’s a hole in the world which leeks over billboards and chart toppers, over your daughters thighs and behind your son’s good night manners.
I didn’t dig it up, and I don’t know how to fill it in – did you know there’s a hole in the world, and the worst part is…
we all fell in.