The Inheritance

 

                                                                                     

The Inheritance

 

I disdain to be published by ideological publications,

The Irish Times, Poetry Ireland and their associative presses;

Good shite, when did poetry in Ireland become so respectable,

Even polished with all the veneer of corporate marketing ?

 

Where so called poets in their hundreds, possibly thousands,

All minority groups, of course, from trans, gay, non-binary

Black and above all ….Feminist ;

One writes with a clitoris these days, darling, not a penis!

 

To hell with that. Everyday, I reconstruct my Oedipal origins,

Eroticizing my way along the quotidian.

Out there on the plains of absolute boredom

 

Are stationed an army of women who are truly Vitruvian;

And their aquiline limbs sculpted a very specific way

Invoke both the caves of Lascaux and Baudelaire.

Dark Matter

Dark Matter

 

 

The absence is an ever -expanding wound

Moving outward in concentric ripples or waves,

Expanding ever outward into the unlimited darkness…

 

The darkness, which is equally reflected inward,

Keeps spiralling in a parallel vortex as the outward continuum…

Thus, caught in a double gyre, woman moves.

 

Her bitch reacts, she a rogue asset doomed

To be an agent for progeny and the procreation of the race.

She seeks out a mate or partner in a systematic process of elimination

 

Till she finally comes across a potential mate,

Which she assesses fulfilling multiple criteria.

While you, ye dumb fuck, y’ just wanna splurrrge!