“I warn you, I refuse to be an object.”

Leonora Carrington

the slicing of an eyeball is a singular movement:
guide the razor from west to east
like a silver horse bounding
across pale sand
to meet the sunrise
 
after this first act, dismemberment is easy to render:
outside the easel’s inner circle
pliant unknowns in repose
offer breasts hips buttocks sex
to the paintbrush blade 
by which you’ll be remembered

contemporaries will catch on, stay true to the form:
she is ideally viewed from behind
in pieces or on fire
enlarge get sharper let the insides glisten
fuck her anyone and everything to be
hailed as a king riding a leopard

submerged in mythologies of their own making
women crawl down from the mountains
at night adorned in flowers
to cut cut cut such men
decimate their paintings
and devour the world with their cunts

…

Jennifer Brough is a writer, editor and avid reader. Outside of these wordy pursuits, she is learning Spanish and dreaming of Mexico. Her poems have recently been published in Pussy Magic, Mookychick, Blanket Sea and Crooked Arrow Press. She tweets at @Jennifer_Brough and rarely blogs at jenniferbrough.wordpress.com.