Song of a Reformed Headhunter

I Do, I Do In me (the worm) clearly is no righteousness, but this— persistence             H.D., “The Walls Do Not Fall” I’m eating my way through the books of dead women poets— Aemilia Lanyer’s garden where Eve is blameless the robin-eye in Elizabeth Bishop Phillis Wheatley’s bird- of-paradise the swart swan song by Marianne Moore Anna Wickham’s strangled cry the tunes of Li Qingzhao Annie Finch, not the American anthologist, the Countess of Winchilsea the living are eaten too Elisabeth Bletsoe’s Sherborne Woodcock, Pied Wagtail, Starling Molly Peacock Rita Dove And one born in Ghana whose name is a birdcall Ata Ama Aidoo

Cold Blue Eyes My Brother, if we are not careful, we would burn out our brawn and brains trying to prove what you describe as “our worth” and we won’t get a flicker of recognition from those cold blue eyes.                         Ama Ata Aidoo, “A Love Letter” Trying to prove my worth, I am burning out my brawn and brains. Burning to prove my brawn, I am trying out my brains and worth. To prove my brains, I am trying out burning my worth and brawn. To prove my trying, I am burning out my worth, brawn and brains. To Brains, prove I am trying my brawn and burning out my worth. To Brawn and Worth, prove I am trying out my, my, burning brains. My brains and my brawn trying to prove I am burning to worth? I am burning, my worth, brains and brawn prove to my trying out. Trying and burning brains, out to prove my worth, I am my bra...