in the wee hours of the morning
sits a middle-age woman
at her computer in nothing more
than an underwire bra and trim *****

singing as she’s typing, line after line
exposing her flesh and her soul for all
to graze upon, like the cattle in the fields
she yields her sweet milk for them

to drink, unpasteurized of course. Her
voice hoarse and the words integrating.
Isn’t it exhilarating! The whole world views
the artist on display