sensitive dependency on initial conditions

I just gave a butterfly a funeral:
assayed it to lake Michigan
with its wing-powder and parasites.

the ferris wheel next to the water
was blinking in time with Shoreline,
slowly drawing in breaths.

They arranged 22 sour apples
in the shape of an arrow
and pointed it at the rising moon.

All the boats surveyed,
rocking like old birds
in the benevolent wind.

of hating and submitting and the balance

what happens when i stop holding the shattered word
that would name me?

it used to slip
out my lips like a blue newborn
this woman-word.

return it to me and I'm doomed
like a rabbit. this animal?
she only ovulates when penetrated.

regard me like prey
at your own expense -- i was only a woman
when you all decided to violate me,
gender blooming under my skin like spreading broken yolk.

wounds and warrens and war have left their marks on me.
i won't face out towards your ring of spears
tied in my own skin and bound for it.

i no longer identify with the power of rising above.

i'd rather slip between your ankles and forget
the whole mess of still wanting desire.

like i said, i'll be prey when it's your funeral.
until then, bite me and i'll walk.
i am not a woman.
i don't want to remember anymore.