do not protest on a full stomach
you're bound to cough out chunks
on the sluts and the punks
and the machine gun feminists
if only i was hypothesizing

instead, i suggest, you
starve through the day, night,
till morning, with shopping bag eyes
baby curled cries, with finely sprinkled moaning
and try to remain off soft vacuumed carpets
so you can know the pain
of a millennia?s oppression

moreover, i have a suggestion:
you shoot yourself, no.
you chisel out a thesis
on your stomach with a fork
and let history chase the deadline
with the thousand page retort