my tongue is not all tongues – it is my imagination in its expansive black plain – its movements & dialects do not always fit eyes of the page – the overlords that decide the worthiness of the stake – they fondle my breasts & want to take them out – they sleepfinger my vagina & want to take it out – before i know it my tongue is no longer identifiable & i in my right place am now all wrong –

my tongue lies flat on the page – like a fish who gives up the struggle & succumbs to breathlessness – i’m caught in the net – caught in the bureaucracy of man for man’s poetry – because my violence is all too real – & the pain is all too picturesque – when beauty in the eye of its ominous beholder is a white veil over beached silver coffins

–Courtney Jameson