Obscenity test, for polite company
I pick my gap-toothed cunt up off the floor.
I can feel it in my lap, trembling there
like a small insect.
Oh cut the crap dear cunt, I tell it.
The time it took the ocean to carve this valley,
that was one day in the life of a cunt.
Cunt of cordage and rigging, of shock
and sigh of wave. Then, yes—
with such strangeness it opens,
gives name to the sounds that rise early
at my window: wind and leaf
and leafblower and the opened husk
of sun. The cunt could name mountains,
but its paper wings just beat and beat.