On
the Verge
She tests the water with a tremulous hand, foot,
quaking
body part, the plunge ever beyond acquisition
Starkly bare,
starry starry night—where have you gone?
She is an empty vessel forever needing—forever wanting—forever ever forging
Don't
risk the hateful plunge, partake of no forbidden thing
The
honest daughter encases in time warp need
never
being, never being
The solitary walk of feminine anguish must
not be whispered,
her soul writhes, twisting against
powerful knowledge and ignorance
the power of the ignorance of
knowledge
Their collected indignities summon silence—be she
ever abounding
within her fairyland as the bubble of protection encases,
encases
the awareness of her rawness
Never you mind
She is invincible
False Balls
Prostrate from false balls
here I lay encumbered with my heavy weightless male extremities
no where to release into
the void is androgynous and everlastingly apathetic but nevertheless necessary
coiled within itself
fetal-like bound and gagged like a dead laxative
Bio:
Cathey Summitt is currently reveling in copious amounts of time,
frequent bouts of high energy, and lows of dark reveries concerning
fleshly age and the desire to remain in her dreams, real and
imagined. Having buried numerous past loves, life turns her
attention to the great omniscient Creator of her youth, seeking peace
and chaos simultaneously. Writing has become her angel and
demon, daughter and mother, hope and despair, beginning and end.