Pan's Phallus - a poem

man! ego one patriarchic phallus
& there he sit :
do you remember Pan?

let’s remember Pan!
on the breeze
the chemical perfumes fresh

from the fashion counter, nylon lingerie
the polite rhythmic click-clack
those tight! clothes, the face she paints

everything in nothing, we make her
shave her head and dance, we make her
shave her head and dance, and then

in our binary embrace, ones and zeros
fractalling off over the horizon,
the glorious imperfections of the flesh

joggling along, the musk of rut,
we tumble together, she & I,
words, words, words

for which we search, fumble,
finding ourselves fronting up to such majesty
nobodaddy muss escape & home he go