Tanya Larkin



Market Day

I want to make a terrible noise inside you
worse than tourniquets and scalded pigs
in maiden weather dress a super-smart
flesh and blood oracle-smelling noise
where the dead can argue back
and finger you out of your fingering hole
and punish your sequin with real shucked light
for I too can go to market with my brothers
I am a child of forward parts forgetting
the radical skill message of my hands


© 2005 Electronic Poetry Review