if you cut out your eyes with scissors
do you think you would still dream?
tell me who you are and I will listen
widen your toes
lever your weight off your heels
and squat
i am a story
i am a rich pie of strong tasty…something
interfamiliarly
the politics of being seen
naked
i am lying in wait
i am laying out the bait
intercontinental interpersonal
organic synthetic
rapaciously managing rage
for an extended audience of one
cultivate the art of turning up
turning on
even if no-one remembers or recognises your face
Salome would just chop of Herod’s dick to add to her holy head collection
the me that is not me
that wants to be the me seen by me
a powerhouse femme
all mouth and no trousers
but i like trousers
unsure of how to receive a complimentary insult
where to put it once it is given
one it is spoken
regifted? regift it?
annihilated
a competition between parts of your/self
legs up the wall
it is becoming abundantly clear that this is a vanishing art
feeling around in the dark for some sense of my body
in space
i will not be eaten
i will be forgotten
unless you save your soul by touching your hole
mine
culturally constructed
fairly traded
verbally produced
entitled little bitch baby
socially signified
power attributed
the mortifying ordeal of being known
for being unknown
shaking spilling out taking up space
a magnificent body
slinking and drooling
a body of work
a body of art
a body of knowledge
where’s your head at?!
where’s your head at?!
where’s your head at?!
where’s your head at?!
where is the ugly in you
are you ashamed to be seen
and to be reconsidering
repetitive motion
vulnerably
performing motion
striking up a conversation
with this body
Virginia Kennard
Headless Women text
