Headless Women

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


the politics of being seen


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?


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


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


performing motion

striking up a conversation

with this body


Virginia Kennard

Headless Women text

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