An old brass bathtub
an oblong reddish-brown bowl
on four short black legs
gently curved piping
that winds like tree vines
from the floor
all the way to the spigot
which curves bird-like over the tub
enough extra piping leftover
to twist, root-like, above
where it supports
a small withered potted houseplant
a cactus without needles;
viscous and the color
of midnight
black oil
pours from the spigot
into the tub
which is nearly full now;
a woman with long wavy hair
and eyes
the same shade of black
as the oil
sits in the center of the tub
in the flesh
arms curled loosely round her legs
her firm round breasts unhidden;
she stares out
in your direction
staring right through you
right through the entire universe
into the soft nothingness
that surrounds us all.
The minister of energy supports
the takeover and endorses a process
that will create a permanent submission.
– matt at shadow of iris
[This poem was inspired by the work of Esao Andrews.]
