SELF PORTRAIT AS PICASSO’S WAR AND PEACE (HEAD OF A WOMAN)

EVANA BODIKER

 

Unsure that his erratic
lines will flatter me. Of course
man anoints himself to
reanimate all life. My
crudely crowned
 
head adorning me less
victorious, more wasted
to the spoils
of another party’s
 
invitation for its guests
to leave their marks
on the wall. So they
can say, what’s
so special, I could
 
do that in five
minutes. Both puke
and calligraphy.
A woman named no
 
thing, no body.
Museums of tunneling
mausoleums. The men
dressed as mad
scientists drawing phallic
cuneiform, childish
cave etchings ––
 
it’s Halloween
and the street sucks
all fallen life into
its guttered jaws.
Highlighter yellow
under the UV light
 
as my flattering
makeup tonight;
I have borrowed Ophelia’s
unkempt wreaths. In
the womb, a child’s
lungs form in last place
after the other organs.
My neck’s end
leads to trenches.

 

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