the ballad of hollow girl
she needed the biggest, she needed the best.
the boys in her town were stubs
and the men of the city were little more.
so hollow girl hiked the globe:
sometimes paying for it, sometimes raping.
hollow girl went shore to shore
pounced on and bounced on every man she saw
in countries you’ve never heard of.
she passed herself around the few hidden tribes
whitey hadn’t wiped out yet,
but even they barely scraped the sides
of the insides of hollow girl
and as she lay in jungles crying hollow cries
as technicolour beetles scurried over her hollow girl body,
the satellite picked her up:
the narcs in secret Lab 47b were surveying the globe
for the next tree glue, the next cancer-curing coconut or whatever,
when they got wind of hollow girl
and they homed in on her:
watched her rut and cry and rut.
a chopper swooped in and got her
and hollow girl was wheeled into shady government clubs
narcs took turns.
prime ministers had a go of it.
royals hopped on.
powerful men – anonymous and too famous,
they all plugged her up,
even all at once at one point
but alas – they still barely met each other
it was no good:
hollow girl was still hollow.
so the important men shot her into space.
the bastards, they shot hollow girl into space.
hollow girl hurtling through the cosmos in a big phallic rocket
that she could easily take: the irony not lost
as she watched galaxies slide by the window like weird little windy towns.
hollow girl wishing she could be full.
wishing she could be a full full-on lesbian,
as the edge of the universe came yonder
faster than she ever had
then there was
then there was
maybe some light?
some white light?
she woke up
on God’s lap
who’s your daddy? He said
and wriggled her up and down His length
but still, STILL
hollow girl was unsatisfied.
that was it.
she’d had enough
of never having had enough.
it was the literal last straw.
she slipped right off Him,
and He slipped right out of her.
then she leapt up at His face
and scratched it into a big useless pate.
then she sat panting on Him a while …
finally, she felt good.
not great, but good enough
there, on God’s dead lap.
still not fulfilled:
quite the opposite in fact.
but she was full of unfulfillment, you see?
the agony of hope was gone at last.
she was choc-full of dreams of vengeance
as the blood of His face rained down on her.
more powerful than any dick
swelled inside her.
The Hate filled her up, all right.
The Hate bubbled out of her every chasm orifice,
on the faceless throne of our baby dick dead God.
on Her throne.
She was pregnant with vengeance
as destiny coursed through Her hollow body.
and Hollow God?
She looked down at all of us
and now Her work