by Eurydice (c) 1999

 Labia Liberty

    I covered museums, department stores, Broadway shows and trendy discos, calculating that the cunt must take the route of any person alone for the first time in the city, not in order to acclimate itself but rather to seduce the naive victims it has a fondness for.  I took the Staten Island ferry, amidst sleepy commuters and wide-eyed tourists shouting and shooting all at once.  Click!  Click! I hoped those sounds would attract the cunt.  So I suffered the proximity of picture-crazy lenses directed thoughtlessly any which way and eventually came to see a smirking cunt in every lens that snapped about.  I reminded myself I had to stay firm and relentless until I stepped foot on that tiny mound and planted my flag in it. 

     As the ferry neared the mammoth ungraceful statue, I finally saw it!  What a surprise it afforded me!  It was posing between Liberty's colossal legs, splat against the bronze dress at the spot where the footlong iron vagina of the Lady would have been inserted if she were not a puritan.  It flickered proudly over the river wastes, reflecting the light, shining like a mirror, like a movie-star.  It was delighted to be photographed by the awed tourists. Beaming out like a precarious lighthouse, Liberty's cunt looked over N.Y.C. like a conqueror!  The sea wind blew through its folds, making it flap like an American flag. 
     I climbed Liberty's endless stairs as if running for my life.  At the corresponding floor, I looked through a smutty window and saw: nothing.  It was gone.  This hide-and-seek in which the deceitful cunt had all the odds in its favor was beginning to exhaust me. If everyone else wasn't blinded by habit and decorum, it would be caught at once. Oh, if only people understood that this is not a metaphor!