what of this belly button fluff
that is contemplated by fingers:
examined under eye and flicker of thoughts?
this is not a complete story yet,
for this body is not settling in the primordial soup of time,
motion,
loss and death.
to dream of coming through
on the other side of rigidity,
compassion, will not lessen courage
that ventures into newness
& arms of stoic strength,
under pressure survival sweeps
and canonises the immortal control-button.
Which when pressed by 'others'
with the belly & womb
can lead to she-world wars,
negotations will not take place with terrorists,
come under threat
and bomb the shelter of skull and bone
to make mind-swimming itch.
This is not a revolution and it will not be televised between thighs
nor a homage to Gil Scott Heron will save this bottled-woman
bring out the body from the soupy mix,
please noodle this and set the fluff free.
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