Naomi Wolf at the 2008 Brooklyn Book Festival ...

Naomi Wolf

For Stephanie, and Naomi Wolf.

So who is ‘more’ messed up? What is a mess?

She is standing before me, a bloody panty shield wagging in her hand, asking me in rageful tones if I know what that means.

Jericho, like an echo, or glossolalia; her walls, and wars for independence from femininity.

Little joker, I feel. I adore stupid questions.
Yup, I say, with my whole heart in her.

You fucker, she says, with memories of only my dick–apparently- in her too.

Naomi Wolf, ap-parently, adores looking into households, and seeing exactly what she wants to see, her teeth bared at the site of flesh.

Never mind the dissension, or the lie in, and at the door.

I think she was named correctly; Naomi.

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