Oocyte

  1. In a station of the vortex pick me up and hurl me
  2. on the prow of a ship named for a queen. Christen with a broken bottle
  3. if you christ me. Split my brow. Bluebottle, green bottle fly, diadem me,
  4. black beat turtleneck, beat box me back in. This is the horse
  5. I rode in on, when I met my GI John off-base. He slew me,
  6. and not nicely. Now his ship’s come in carrying hurlitzers, howitzers,
  7. howler monkeys on the lam from the lab. It’s carrying a queen
  8. bee and her packed punches. The last of her stingers is stuck up the cram
  9. of wake. I mean quake. I mean punches pulled, holds barred,
  10. honey pooled, the drinking water of West Virginia mad
  11. with chemicals and running off in greasy beads.
  12. That state named for a virgin queen. She wore a coat of ermine tails
  13. each with a black smudge to prove its whiteness. The ermine’d rather die
  14. whilst the coal-smut stoat grieves swartly in the scuttle. O honey , it
  15. pullulates and seals a bard’s throat like letters of execution.
  16. Imperial pallor, the pillbox like a bad number, without a chinstrap, it slips. Goldfinger,
  17. barf, I shot the queen and lost my lunch,
  18. I shot the queen and left my tote of Kotex
  19. on the piano and my cast-off screenplay and my addressbook
  20. and my extragun. I beat retreat, made a nest of spun spittle
  21. within my nest of scum. I’m not an actress I’m a writer.
  22. The joystick’d boys sink arrows into the ozone.
  23. If we can’t have bees we’ll have drones.