I were French, I'd write
about, breasts, structuralist treatments
of breasts, destructionalist breasts
A friend remembers nursing,
his twin in a menacing blur. But wait,
we're in America, where breasts
were pointy until 1968.
Beckett calls them dugs, which makes me think
of potatoes, but who calls breasts potatoes?
I blame the summer when flowers overcome gardens
and breasts point at the stars. Cats
have eight of them, and Colette tells
of a cat nursing its young while
being nursed by its mother. Imagine the scene
rendered. And then there's the Russian
story about the women . . . but wait,
they've turned the lights down, and Humphrey
Bogart is staring at Lauren Bacall's breasts
as if they might start speaking.
Please notice that there are two different routes you can take at this point. You must eventually start back at this page and hit "go to the next page" for each microtheme in this route option in order to see my whole project. The second route will all have links which take you to each microtheme. Enjoy!