Sunday, May 10, 2009

It is the gender in the brain that I would target. Red circles on the skull. A concentric cap. How is woman inscribed in the labyrinth? Is it? Possible to remake, retool, redraw, coax the minotaur back through his feeding, recover sacrifice, un-Daedalus? A red thread pulled as if upward through a cervix. This I would know: how I am made. Sewn? Printed? Digitized? Hewn from stone? Coagulated? Am I a calculation, a piece of pottery, a choreography of copper wire? Can it be undone? Which art are thou? Which art am I? And what made me--dread godhand or meme or viral joke? Why don't I desire bloodsport, defend rhetorically torture, let water pass, command? It must be one: defect, salvation, personality. Also: why happier in the questions? Why softer in the bed?

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