From Strawberry Fields to Strawberry Blondes

From strawberry fields to strawberry blondes
we bend now break, rules made for heaven’s sake
unions between soil and toil, lovers and life
being sacrificed and sliced into
strawberry fields and strawberry blondes

Furrows that are fallow are now being plowed by the shallow
egg brokers, breaking into the womb, we call Mother
breaking and entering into creation
assault and battery on relation

Without intuition, young women being bribed by tuition
tuition paid with eggs from their basket
a tisket a tasket, what’s become of life’s basket
eggs sold without interest, to the highest bidder
a shell game without soul
these young women aren’t told, this tuition comes to bitter fruition

Type in the type, you want, you, won’t be disappointed
just make your appointment
you spell him out
you spell her out
you paid for it
if the son or she isn’t the you, you want
for a brand new life … cycle, couldn’t she be recycled
we said tall, but this fall, she failed to reach the star

Who’s the best and brightest
who’s most slender and the slightest
with a slip and slight of hand
these eggs not laid are taken from their basket
in a tisket and a tasket for a tryst in a dish

surgical fathers into surrogate mothers
from the spawning of sperm banks
to this new dam business
this relentless lust for a me of mine
instead of the divine
when will it burst, when will it bust
this reproductive lust

Femininity, finance, and future
egg brokers play a shell game with life
what will you find under the dome divine
they shuffle and muffle and move in the womb
women infertile say they want, you
and they’ll pay for that privilege buried deep inside you
they beckon with thrills and dollar-sized bills
the chill of the who and the when,
your decision comes due

Eggs cracked, by ads placed in the undeveloped mind
eggs pierced by needled pricks
plucked from your basket and placed in a dish
then woven into women to hold previously owned eggs
eggs cracked by ads, what will we find

Love lost from the locket, eggs poached from the basket
what kind of casket, holds our most precious assets
what kind of casket holds the grief of such malicious deceit

Ads for your additives, be they, be made
5’10”, well read, not overfed, high S.A.T.’s , no A.D.D.
your ingredients to be mixed, by a scientist’s stick
to serve up a desired dish, of a sterile parental wish
a match made on data, not on a date

Alpha, data, mata, a new society of sisters
being paid without being laid
to pay for their courses, without intercourse
providing the source of eggs for injection
by pre-mature ejaculation

All to the ovation of doctors, scientists, and egg brokers
their elation over ovaries is easy to applaud
till the deflation, that life isn’t flat, and
can’t be laid out
will be found out

Egg brokers, breaking into banks, on the uterine shore
eggs on the river of life
cavalierly taken, taken by surgeons
something sturgeons have tasted for years
eggs broken open by a conception
that conceiving is simply receiving

up to the attraction of extraction
trace the tracks of extraction
our attraction to extraction has reached a likely faction
exploitation extraction of Mother Earth  into mothers
Mother Earth has felt this traction
now mothers will feel the reaction

Shouldn’t we have known that the shafts of minds
that burrowed deep into Mother Earth
for her precious uranium, gold, silver, coal, soul
these cold souls, treat mother and mother’s eggs
with the same unbroken promise to excavate
from Columbus’ maiden voyage across her Ocean Atlantic
up and into our own maiden’s sea

From strawberry fields into strawberry blondes
we bend, now break, rules made for heaven’s sake
from fertile ground to infertile ground
from naturally round, to scientifically sound
natural ripeness, replaced by artificial preciseness

From strawberry fields to strawberry blondes
we walk on eggs, shell-shocked by
trenches dug into Mother and mothers
lines cast as shadows for appearance
reflect a neglect of
you reap what you sow