Gruesome Tales from Nature: The Female Duck and Her Labyrinthian Vagina

“It often happens that
neurotic men declare
that they feel that there is
something uncanny
about the female genital organs.
This Unheimlich [uncanny] place,
however, is the entrance
to the former Heim [home] of all
human beings.”

—Freud.

Some Dadaists have pondered
that the vagina of the female duck
was geometrically dreamed 
as a maze of dreaded ecstasy.
 

They have even theorized
that her ovum-seed was galactically carved
as a sparkling reminder of a gestating-minotaur
crying for the taste of ballistic vessels.
 

Gestating-minotaur as soloist:

“I can see scattered splinters of rumpled skin
regurgitated like opaque bits of zigzagging shells
that once, long ago, in ages past
were filled with warm bubbling milk.”

Such as oyster’s gills under fidgety crickets
a hell of blooming crinkles ripple and contract
unfurling a foaming surf of neon-outrage
from the very boggy depths—of the female duck.    

“Unsex me here,”
shouts the treacherous queen of their empire,
turning her pinball-like plumbing
into a flesh-eating-flower.

Thus: the male skin recoils
cold and quaggy and green
afraid of losing its ejecting power
and the tacky bliss of its life-bearing snot.

Unsexed treacherous queen
pontificates from her feathered balcony:
“Do not despair and do not lower your beaks,
for romanticism is not yet dead!”

“Soulmates abound in this lake,
beneath this hill and on this scented prairie,
therefore there is no harm in deflecting
the blue speckles of unwanted company.”

Dadaists have suggested that a blank space
—that intimidating reminder; a sexless vacuum—
albeit a machine of terrible visions,
can be a sensual plateau of infinite marvels.

Grown-up-minotaur as narrator:

“Wonder-wonder as in Wonderland,
all priapic vessels approaching the gates
find themselves in the very heart of darkness
blistering, spouting their silver sour milk.”