two percent

i hear the subtleties
like a widow screaming
behind a veil at a wake
or a burqa in an airport

the badeken was created for us
a sacrifice to be meek

they etched ideas onto the helix
for someone else's revelation
and someone else's reasons

a puritan fraternity
bound us in their trappings
and their crucifixions crossed out
generations of heiresses

the daughter of Cheops
is burning like a phoenix

and the fires and the pyres
are as the Sun

and her hair and her heirs
are as the Sun

and the evidence
is left on the stones
while the red hair
still sticks to the bones

grace be the swan neck
that turns the head of household
toward the tombs
where history is still as honest
as the blind eye that failed you

i am not your evidence
but certainty is as dense as
an idea without investigation

you see nothing past your books
you see nothing past the hook
of propaganda princes and paparazzi lenses

when once you were a prosaic Goddess
guiding the hands of man into languages
deep enough to scar the rock
but never penetrate the skin

now, a Prozac hostage
you'll sell your sacred womb with the pretense
that your strength is lesser somehow
because you don't compete to prove it

intuition and intellect
kept the brawn in the fields
and the fat on the thrones

disown the myth of your master, girl
you've decided life or death with each
babies breath bouquet

while your sixth sense pulls you into
a web of "i-do-i-can't-do-this-anymore"
you feel the need to feed them
rather than eating them, l. mactans