The earth was void,
And darkness gurgled upon the deep,
And Jenna was there, too.

God made stuff.
Jenna sprinkled it with glitter.

God went around doing Godly things.
Jenna was a little devil.

No one knows
Where she came from,
Not even God.

Jenna watched Adam and Eve
From a bird blind
High in The Tree of Knowledge.

Bored, she slipped
Into a snake print onesie.

History fell out of her sleeves.

Now, she must live in the gutter.
She flirts with the boots of strangers.

No one looks for her
‘Til she strikes.

I have no beef
With closing my legs,
Except language
Conspires to create passage between
This world and the next.

And if an articulate python
Should go snooping
Where I come to an end
And my angel, Harry
Edward Styles, begins,
You’d likely find terror
Or at least a good kick in the pants.

Kierkegaard
(Whom drag queens love to quote)
Liked to imagine God
Used trauma as an instrument
To stun the faithful
Into gnosis:
“The greater the anxiety,
The greater the man.”

Bitch, I’m all woman.

And if someone even more unearthly
Than Kierkegaard,
Such as myself, should write
Sleazy poems about, O,
The deepest of the deep,
Then just call that a womb already.

I don’t have one. I never will.
I’m barren. But my friends
Still say I’m a lot of fun.