More legible than our own

It is not as if her back
Was shaggy with penises
For there was but one
Square in the middle
Of her wrankled brow
And it behaved like a little cottage
Shaped like a shoe

Now

Old Mother Hubbard lived
At the top of Mount Olympus
Eating her curds and whey
And along came a spider
Who laid eggs beside her
Which she consumed at her leisure
All day

In the midst of black feathered cattle
With the heads of crows
And sagging udders
Which seemed much closer
To six legged
Luminous cauldrons

As many of the chaos (cows)
Could balance on them
And tuck up their legs
Down below