Snaking up a body of offbeat crooked hobbles

Black leather encases her in obsequious devotion

And a cowboy hat compresses her body into a puddle

That seeps throughout the room, wetting the feet of kinetic children

Each strike of her sanded wood cane on the floor is a statement

An attack on the world outside

In old age and hurt body and prejudice

The archetypal woman does not hide

Bouncing gradients of vibrance cocoon a stubborn ember

A colored cadence that follows successive cascades

Brown cane black leather brown skin white eyes

Her footsteps have their own weather

Defiance incarnate

F*** you to the system

"I'll get me myself"

The strata, the order, make it weak at the base

Take up your wood chisel, spray them with mace

Collapse this whole schema, strike it right in the face

Sit down and say thank you, with your polite, Sudanese vase

That has flying colors breaking walls and shooting needles into history

Sewing a new past of ripped fabric

This archetypal woman redefined humanity right then and there

Pull from all corners of the globe and big ideas

Condense them to yourself and mosaic, are you not?

With her wood cane and cowboy hat — no stop

Forget the old world

B***h I am aloft

There was never a Greece or a Capetian flag

a modern black subculture, some network of enclaves in enclaves in enclaves

Rising up and converging and reaching around one another to pen some sharp dot at the top

For you to look at and say "Ah"

islamic golden age and great tang china

songtsen gampo and inca and maya

Vaporized into medium

Into that cold, fresh water of secular salvation you know so well

That microchip naked to the eye

Delivered to Void.

History is no more, the thin sheets of time past, what is left, wrap around

The Archetypal Woman

Parades them as a trailing robe

Parades them in her black leather clothes

Holds this destruction up to the sky says f*** you to the past

And all you chefs chopping up culture into little bits for your diversity casserole

The slate is clean

It isn't a problem anymore, we're all invisible

The Archetypal Woman beat her cane against the ground,

and she broke old threads and put new ones in place

Not a mismatched connection of tense, wavering string

A quilt that blankets us all

Blankets the sun in a womb of floating, suffocating heat

So we have more to focus on