Obscenity test, for polite company

I pick my gap-toothed cunt up off the floor.



I can feel it in my lap, trembling there



like a small insect. 



 



Oh cut the crap dear cunt, I tell it. 



The time it took the ocean to carve this valley,



that was one day in the life of a cunt.



 



Cunt of cordage and rigging, of shock



and sigh of wave. Then, yes—



with such strangeness it opens,



 



gives name to the sounds that rise early



at my window: wind and leaf



and leafblower and the opened husk 



 



of sun. The cunt could name mountains,



but its paper wings just beat and beat.