Medusa

Her hair was curly,

question marks unlimited.

Not only, her pubic hairs

but all her shields.

Her mustache grew fine

over her eyes

breath and sight together,

speaking a long line of armors

razors, wax and tweezers.

Why do we always

mutilate our growth?

she asked

in unison with her

other voice,

the hairless voice

that was cold and needy

Hairs, she thought, are

the body's punctuation,

as she spread Neet

over her thoughts.