Barbie Has No Teeth to Drink Wisdom With
I am the
briar—
without the
thorns—
the seedless
green grape
and
watermelon
the blank
slate—
tattooed face
that smiles
on—
in spite of
every
fake
body part
devoid
of
whatever
fact might
be—
I am the
briar—
without the
thorns—
The barb in
the side
of
consciousness
as that
Aye—
Deal we need
to shake
out
of avarice
with a
scent
of clear and
present
blood
drawn from real
women's
feet