Ladies, are you here
only to bestow laurels?
Are you here only
because some god(awful)
plucked a rib from a jackass?
Are you simple fodder for texts?
Or are you the corpora keepers of Earth?
One vang of Ship and Stars,
essential oil to the rough hand,
you’ve phased like the moon
from slim to bold—
illuminating more than semicircles.
Don’t let the other vang control
our entire voyage, emphasizing their weight.
Ladies, haven’t you of late outrun
the phony blame? The transferred shame?
not every page should be rewritten.
But tear away this old book’s false cover.
Change the font, don’t hurt for the past;
this newest alphabet is yours to form.
The oldest prints came from the leaf,
the petal, the hand. And stamped by Man.
Ladies, bestow our perennial history, instead
onto the interior-lighted electron images.
Make them as tangible as the paper page
was to the Suffragettes. Show us all
what’s full and ongoing, a portmanteau
for our journey forward.
K. Shawn Edgar | Electric Candle | Post-Punk BMX | Night Shifter