Hungry Castration by a Sterile Sow

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem

contemporary poem

The streets she passes through are full of men.

The streets, not fields of flowers, she passes through.

She would not pick a petal in a glen:

Her walking urges more since she in lieu

Of what he cannot give her walks about

In desperation’s pavements.  Who will give

Her what she needs, who calm her silent shout,

A shriek sent out through vacuum’s* blank sieve,

The tone unheard, unhearable though; if

She hexed it out, then no one would allow

Themselves to register its stench, a whiff

Of it to chop off balls with female sough?

  Her silent sighs are killing virgin beds

    Of unsuccessful men, sighs slashing shreds.

*The poet pronounces this as a three-syllable word.