schwerner- bacchae sonnet number three

[pantopon_rose]

you are not the first but to discover yourself hard on the now visible
paths of the Furies, inside the fat red lips, you are the first born
of your own motherhood, you are charged, you are changed
into this tumescence. if your eyes roll inward, if you are awed
into silence, if your eyes are bankrupt of the round
bellies before you, you have surrendered your slavehood.
but it is still a surrender, your first instance
is the perfection of strenuousness. confusion

is your mother. you are no the first, you
the first born. this dance is the merit
of your bewilderment. they never let go,
wailing for your blood, to compost you. their sopping cunts
are your eyes. this harsh cruel way is another instance.
you keep on blundering into your endless pregnancy